Trials and Abrogations
by pink-cherry-005
Summary: Vendra wants freedom, Talwyn wants answers. Ratchet wants compliance, and Qwark wants all the credit. When the Progs willingly turn themselves in, it's not so simple to just throw them in for life.
1. Prologue: Sealed

Trials and Abrogations

_Prologue: Sealed_

_"It's been about ten years since my last diary entry. Why not just pick up where you left off?" _

As Vendra Prog moves her hands to adjust her camera to her face, chains rattle out of focus.

From the receiving end, it looks like she is in isolation and secrecy, updating an invisible audience on her incarceration. But there are eyes - busy, yet trembling ones that make bets on the extent of her power - that oversee her from the ceiling cameras camouflaged in the opaque walls. She's sure they're watching, but she refuses to give these fools the satisfaction of containing her.

_"My location is Cell 9971 in the Meridian City Penitentiary. It didn't take the warders long to get me settled in."_

Everyone can take a breather; her powers, _for now_, are depleted. Even she is unsure when, or even how they'll return, but she hasn't clung to the idea that they're gone forever. If the guards are going to jump the gun for even the smallest shedding of pink static, they're wasting their time.

In the meanwhile, she thinks she'll entertain them with a prison diary. Something for them to look forward to, like a new holovision show, while they run their shifts.

When she was outside of the Penitentiary a few hours ago, it displayed a dome-shaped corporation in off-white marble and cyan glass; hidden beneath were twenty stories of underground imprisonment, each holding 500 cells. For the occasional bank robber, one could be placed in the floors just beneath the soil; for the conductor of genocide, one could stand and almost feel the heat of the planet's core. For kidnapping, summoning a vicious beast, as well as being "completely insane," Vendra had already figured she'd sit somewhere in between.

Cell 9971 exists on the lowest full floor with Cells 9499-9999 out of 10000. The Mentally Insane Floor, she hears some of the inmates, who snarl her a welcome, whisper so contagiously.

As she was escorted, cuffed, to her cell, shrill voices hooted excitedly at the unseen face - her face, poised yet stricken with annoyance. Hands stretched as far as they could to reach her, touch her, steal the warmth of the sunlight she felt on her way here, stroke the freshly pressed fabric compared to their own jaded jumpsuits. One particular female prisoner, whose face and arms gave the impression that she'd skipped several meals, locked eyes with Vendra and then fainted. Those incarcerated longer, though no less often than she, must have thrived off of newness dragged down from the surface of the world to the point of delirium.

Her new home has had some seniority: the rubber mattress has scratches and an overused dip in its middle; once-white walls are now slathered with red-rusted stains and stagnant mold; the bars that were gripped so often seemed to have shrunken and tarnished; the low ceiling has unbreakable webbed cracks along its middle; and the squat desk offered next to an equally small toilet is where she records her holo-diary.

Vendra turns her wrists within the thick chains and pans her camera around the little room twilit from the dusty floodlight. _"Isn't this room lovely? _I've been stuck in a proton field for six months, so I can't be disappointed with it._"_

The camera is pulled back to her now grinning face. "_They've even given me a nice costume..." _Vendra shows the sleeves of her orange jumpsuit; the oversized material wilts around her forearms. She zooms in her camera toward her collar and points to the stitched identification number: 9971. _"They're addressing prisoners by number as if lightning will strike if they say my name."_ She shrugs._ "Once my powers return, it would fun to give them a little scare once in a while."_

Her wrists have become sore and heavy. With a tired sigh, she rests them on either side of her crossed legs.

_"Looking for my brother, huh?"_ she continues to her invisible audience._ "Too bad. They've taken Neftin somewhere else...probably on the more breathable floors of the penitentiary..."_

Though she doesn't say it, she hopes he is close. The separation had hit her almost to the point of convulsing; he protected her, and they've taken away her shield. She's literally powerless and wants to punish all who've stolen it from her.

Her mind begins racing, tracing back to the recent events that start to razz her again. Her eyebrows narrow to where they almost touch, her scowl deep and seething. A hiss nearly escapes.

_"Neftin...That moronic, blabber-mouthed __**fool! **__Doesn't he know when to shut up?!"_

Her fists are balled and as they loosen, a tiny pink crackle flickers from her fingers, making the chains flash briefly. _Are they watching?_

_"They know more now: about us, what we did. Soon they'll take this to court and get the entire galaxy involved again. Reporters, the Polaris Defense Force, they all will stick to this place like leeches, begging like dogs for more answers."_

* * *

"You're not gonna like jail, you know. All those eyes, judging the two of us - Hey!"

Neftin hoisted his rambling sister higher over his shoulder, bumping her head into tree branches free of their glass bulbs, which were shattered during the fighting. Seriously, why did this planet encase their tree branches as if they would-

A pile of wilting sticks and quickly decaying red-orange leaves came down in a heap within Vendra's hair; ones that missed plopped onto the street. She shook her head to release the twigs, and again as she heard her brother snickering in front of her.

"Sorry," he said, Vendra huffing in response. Neftin's large feet pulverized the scattered glass as he trudged on. His grip around the back of Vendra's waist tightened a bit. "And quit your complaining. I'm not changing my mind about this. Surrendering was the only way Ratchet was going to help you escape the Netherverse. I know I wasn't in there to feel your anguish, but, being twins, I kind of naturally do. We both know that the Netherverse won't welcome us home...ever."

Vendra felt rather than saw Neftin's shoulders slump, like an elevator dropping before halting in place. Her fingers drummed against his thick back, and her eyes wandered toward the yellowing sky. She wanted to deter her thoughts from _That Place_, the Nethers, Mr. Eye...

For a few moments, Vendra watched birds fly around the smoke receding from the extinguished fires. _Freedom is far away once again._ Her eyes continued to gaze across the sky until she saw a large green ship eclipse the evening sun, circling around like a hawk over field mice, until it touched down toward her and Neftin.

The ramp didn't lower to reveal the pilot first; instead, a crackled squeak surrounded through its intercom, sending ground birds skyward and squawking.

"Testing one, two, three? This thing on?" The words echoed through the quiet city street.

"Yes...uh, Qwark," Neftin answered.

A throat was cleared rather theatrically. "Space criminals Vendra and Neftin Prog, your reign of terror has reached its end!"

Vendra rolled her eyes. _Qwark, _just another buffoon from the Polaris Defense Force.

"I, former-President Copernicus Qwark, have stepped forward as the sole representative of Polaris Defense - while the rest retire lazily to their living quarters - to ensure that your surrender is officially carried out! Behold, your infamous transport vessel to nearby imprisonment! Now, step into my office, become behind bars, and await for court to decide your fate!"

Vendra scoffed, shaking her head. "Ugh, Mr. Eye would've loved to eat _him_."

A ramp lowered down, flashing orange lights lining the edges. Neftin placed his foot over it.

"Wait," Vendra demanded, Neftin pausing. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Qwark's already seen us. And I already told you, this is what we're doing. Let's go."

With no room or strength to escape, Vendra sighed and sunk against her brother.

The wide backseat was more of a cargo hold for the twins. There was a rear-view glass paneling and a door to the cockpit; no seats were built along the bumpy grey walls. Neftin finally trusted Vendra enough to lower her to her feet. The second he did, he regretted it; she grabbed his face and squeezed with all of her strength, albeit much weaker, pulling him down to her eye level.

"_Why _were you so quick to listen to that space rat?! Because of you, I am headed off to jail _again!_"

She mushed his face for all it was worth until Neftin halted her hands as firmly as his gargantuan ones could without crushing. Porcelain faces continued to argue within inches of each other.

"I told you! I couldn't save you any other way!"

"I didn't need _any _of _them _to save me!"

"Then what? Did you want to stay in the Netherverse? Was it really where you wanted to be, Vendra? Trapped, _betrayed_, frightened?!"

"Are you doing this because you feel you owe them a _favor? _For blowing up a ship and killing two _stupid_ old warbots?"

"Hello?" an awkward voice interrupted, stepping into the cargo hold timidly. "Is this a bad time to disturb a family meeting?"

Levitation was the norm for the space witch now only able stomp toward the annoying green stalk, who began to cower like a sunless sprout. She felt this in him as evident as a rising heat signature.

"S-stand back!" Qwark fumbled with his belt for a weapon, clip claimed to be emptied while battling Nethers. "I have a blaster, and it runs hot!" He added a sizzling sound effect and a head tilt for emphasis, trying to keep a game face.

Qwark then explained to the twins that coming quietly would not only make things easier for the two of them, it would most definitely make him the true savior of Polaris and get him on the front page, instead of page two, of _Igliak Weekly_. He went off on a tangent about that to Neftin while Vendra sat in the back with her knees propped to her chest. She was surprised that Neftin didn't knock the oaf out and fly the ship ho-..._away._

After several minutes, it seemed that Qwark had finally begun to lower the ship. Her physical powers may have been consumed, but she still had enough mental energy to foresee where they were headed. She only had one thing to say, and it was to herself:

"Meridian City Penitentiary? Honestly, must they name _every structure _after this banal place?"

The door to the cargo hold was opened again, shining the metal cave she sat in. Neftin offered her his hand; her head was turned away as she took it.

"I won't try to run," she said, feeling Neftin watch her carefully. "But Nef...don't let them separate us, okay?"

"This is the first time we're jailed together, huh?" Neftin asked, lightly squeezing her hand.

She placed her other hand over his. "Promise me it'll stay that way."

Neftin only sighed, hand in hand with Vendra as the ramp re-opened.

"Aww, the unbreakable bond of twin criminals!" said Qwark, who awaited them at the end of the ramp. "This makes me want to cry...Oh, wait!" Whether or not the super-zero actually blinked back tears was short-lived as he dug through his belt for a digital camera. He quickly trotted up the ramp, wiggled himself between the two, and snapped a picture.

"Ha! Let's see how many Spacebook Likes _that _gets over Ratchet's selfiie with Cronk and Zephyr..."

Qwark lead the twins down a cobblestone pathway decorated colorfully into an insignia of a ball and chain. They approached the Penitentiary, a colossal overturned bowl patterned similarly to a tortoise shell, fully encased in darkly tinted cyan glass and rimmed with rows of shiny cream marble. The entrance was a search but eventually was found jutted out of the west side of the building.

"Haven't they heard of security around here? Must all be out to a high society banquet or something..." Qwark pondered, apparently to the air because neither twin replied. "Ah, who am I kidding? This makes my criminal escort a walk in the-"

"FREEZE!"

The security department was not short-staffed; five officers in uniform and five Galactic Rangers, as well as two active turrents hiding in the plants on either side of the entrance, surrounded the three with guns raised.

The twins had their hands raised in surrender; Qwark had his raised as a greeting.

"Relax, officers, relax!" said Qwark easily, motioning for them all to lower their weapons. "Allow the great Captain Qwark to ease your troubled minds! I bring you something no one has ever-"

"Captain who?" one of the guards on the far right mutters.

That earned gasp from Qwark so long that it turned soundless. "The infamous _Captain Qwark_, savior of Solana from Chairman Drek, who saved Polaris _countless times? First, _by single-handedly defeating Emperor Tachyon by transmorphing his Lombax-made walker to a cute little harmless penguin? Who took down Flint Vorselon _and _Dr. Nefarious on the _same day _with only _these _noble stallions?" To this, he flexed his biceps and kissed his knuckles. "Ring a bell, huh? Captain Qwark?"

No officer answered but a small conversation broke out between two Galactic Rangers behind Qwark and the Progs.

"Think I've seen this fella before," said one with a nod.

"Yeah..." another tapped the butt of his gun to his chin. "Was that you in that jolly red suit ringin' bells for chump change las' winter?"

"Nevermind, nevermind!" Qwark implored, redirecting the guards' attention. "Don't normally say this, but, enough about me! Something _else _will blow your minds, I'm sure..."

Qwark steps aside within the circle, presenting the Progs behind him.

"It's that space witch and her brother!"

"Vendra and Neftin Prog!"

"But, they're here..." the middle guard said. "What is the meaning of-"

"We're surrendering. Both of us," Neftin finished. "Ready the handcuffs."

All speaking was ceased as the space within the circle shrunk.

"Surrendering?" the middle guard asked. "On what accounts? Aside from kidnapping that Terachnoid geek Pollyx..."

"Along with kidnapping, we have arson, property damage, theft, hiring recidivists for crime, and even murder!"

"You don't admit everything like that, you fool!" Vendra whispered harshly to him.

She was ignored; the guard continued, "Who was the murder victim?"

Neftin answered, "There were two. Cronk and Zephyr, if I remember."

"Double murder, huh?" pondered the guard. "Any other murders? By name, perhaps?"

"Not on the Nebulox-"

_"Enough!" _Vendra shouted, hands thrown out angrily in front of her. "Neftin, take that big mouth of yours and _shut it_ for once!"

"Alright, men, move in," the middle guard commanded. Two Rangers situated each twin's hands behind their backs and cuffed them. Guns were kept near their shoulders and legs in case they were feisty, but they refrained. They were lead into the corporation, Qwark in tow. "Everything you _said _can and will be used against you in court."

Inside was colossal space between the floor and the glass ceiling shining golden-orange rays against twinkly chandeliers. Escalators and elevators led to higher floors of the building, desks were lined upon the sides for various services, where offices lay behind, see-through yet soundproof. Boots and metal feet alike trudged soundly across the black tile floor. A high rise metal door at the end looked binding, final.

_Taste the last bit of sun before the world plunges into darkness._

"No, you can't separate us!" Vendra cried minutes later, looking back at her brother frantically. She refused to let a broken face be the last one she saw of him.

"You might run into your brother sometime during your stay, Ms. Prog," a guard reluctantly tried to reassure her as the hall split in two. The Space Witch, feared by many, has separation anxiety? _Feh_. "We're going to dig deeper into the crimes you two committed. In the meantime, shut up and prepare for protocol."

_Protocol. _Thumb prints, mug shots, orange jumpsuits, imprisonment...

"Just tell me why. Is it separated by males and females?" she continued, struggling against her bindings.

A firm hand grips her shoulder to a still. "Nope. Violent on one end, and Insane on the other. Those are really the only kinds of criminals."

A shrill, defeated cry echoed through the hall until two large metal doors were sealed shut on either side.

* * *

Vendra hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, voiceless minutes added to her audio-visual entry.

_"This is nothing. I'll be out soon. I always find a way to get what I want, after all."_

She powers down her camera.

* * *

Qwark shook hands with a man who garnered impressively long and shiny black robes. Was that silk or polyester? He pondered this as he sat across the only person who stepped in when all the commotion was going on and bothered to ask - _he, the escort who could've easily been killed - _just how in Orvus' name was he doing. He was even generous enough to offer tea and cookies in his office!

"It is an honor to meet you, Captain Qwark."

"Isn't it, though? Ha, just kidding. Mister..." he made a hand juggling motion with his cup of tea.

"Isidore Bronislaw. Appointed and re-elected Judge."

"Friends don't call you Izzy?" Qwark gives another laugh at himself. "Kidding again."

"It must have been a struggle to escort two deadly space criminals here hm?" the man takes a sip of his own tea.

"Nonsense, I'm doing the whole Polaris Defense Force a service! They'll _all _thank me for extracting the evil from this beloved city!"

"I do quite a few speeches when I'm not hitting my gavel or managing other processes within this Penitentiary. How would you like an honorable mention within one of my presentations?"

Qwark lights up at this, leaning in closer with a secret. "Do me a favor and congratulate _me _and not mention any robot-backpack-wearing, show-stealing Lombaxes or bossy, overdressed Markazians, will ya?"

"On second thought, I'll see if we can, um, squeeze you in the front page of _Igliak Weekly _instead. How's that sound?"

Qwark stood, mouth agape, and shook hands with the judge frantically this time.

"That, my new friend, would be _Qwarktastic!_"

* * *

_A/N_

_Prologue is freaking done! Yesh! Chapters forthcoming will really explain the plot later. If I mention it now, it won't be surprising!_

_The majority of the story will be told in Ratchet's point of view with some third person interludes._

_I coined the term Spacebook... :)_

_Let's do this thing!_


	2. Afterwards

_Trials and Abrogations_

_Chapter 1: Afterwards_

"Come on," I tell Clank as I stand up, "we don't wanna keep her waiting."

Conflicting feelings run through my gut as I move to exit the museum. I feel Talwyn's eyes on me and an aura that is a little less depressed but no less sad, and after admitting I'd stay here, half-directly at her, my judgment's no better. I move my feet tentatively, but I refuse to stop them.

In short, all the choices I've made today have been impulsively quick and questionable.

On the Nebulox, I chose to worry about the Progs instead of thinking about Cronk and Zephyr primarily. I was hasty to go after the twins instead of retreating to Igliak. Risking to trust Neftin's word instead of going at it on my own paid off, but now I'm trussed into the most unnerving situation resulted from this impulse: the swift decision that we should go to where the Progs turned themselves in and demand answers for their crimes.

I'm not knocking the idea, just going over in my head about the speed I'm taking things. I mean, just a few hours ago, I was shooting Nether Blades and strafing back and forth along crumbling chunks of platform waiting for the big bad 'Mr. Eye' to faint. I thought about waiting a day or two to see if Vendra and Neftin would be sealed in a jailhouse and be what I guess you could call 'settled in' before we visited, but I was anxious.

More than that, I knew that we needed answers. I owe that much, and undoubtedly more, to Tal.

I hardly say anything to her as she walks by my side departing the vast gallery - until I begin to wonder what's taking Clank so long.

"What am I going to do with him?" I chuckle in Talwyn's direction. "Such a slowpoke."

I expect a witty response more on the lines of '_Must get it from you_,' but I get instead a weak, "Yeah."

"Hey, Clank?" I wait for him to turn around to continue. "You comin' or what?"

"Yes, I am!" Clank turns with a whir and runs toward Talwyn and me.

When he halts by my feet, I casually grin at him, then Talwyn, but she's late to return it. I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "Alright." I set Clank to my back and lead out.

"You seem anxious, Miss Apogee," Clank condones quietly as we are set aglow by the early evening sun.

My eyes that were following Clank's voice glance down to the concrete leading to the glass skywalk where I parked Aphelion. I stop, mainly so I don't walk away rudely as Clank's trying to talk.

"I honestly don't know what to feel right now." Talwyn sighs. "The fact that we're going while the events are still fresh is good, yet heart-wrenching at the same time. I just still need to get my bearings, that's all."

Her voice has grown faint, and I turn to see her looking off in the middle distance, hands holding her elbows and wind fluffing her hair.

"We don't have to do this so soon, Tal," I try to reassure her, get her to come back down to Igliak from her skyward mind. "We can wait a day or two, wait for a call, or something-"

"No." Determination's striking her face, her eyebrows knit and fists tight at her sides. "You guys said they have those answers, so I'm getting them as soon as I can. I don't wanna wait for the media to start storming the place for interviews or autographed mugshots. We need dibs." That last part was meant to be lighthearted, but it didn't seem to show in her eyes as convincing as it did in her tiny smile.

I nod and walk on, but she's not following. "My ship's this way, y'know."

She grins coyly. "Sorry, Zephyr just spent sixty bolts filling up mine. I'll honor him a little by showing my appreciation."

She re-enters the museum, and my gaze follows her until she disappears.

I want out of this area now; this museum is starting to feel like not only an awkward place but a spooky one. Upon crossing the threshold, I could've sworn I heard ghosts but...

Nah. It's just been a long day.

* * *

One of the few jailhouses on Igliak is the Meridian City Penitentiary along the city's outskirts; the next nearest one I know is the Decagon in the crime-riddled Stardust City, south of Luminopolis. From what I hear from locals, Meridian City Penitentiary, or the Pent, holds so many floors that it took almost five years to drill enough space to landscape it. Another rumor I hear is that the space used for it once held a raritanium mine, dug up by the landscapers and used to fund the place.

Though I personally never want to experience being jailed a third time in my life, I'm curious to see how this Penitentiary matches up to both Vartax and Zordoom.

Once out of the city, you can easily take in the expansive heights of each building from afar. The Penitentiary exists in its own little - er, _colossal _\- bubble, bordered with the city off to one side and fields of grass not bothered by innovation on the other. The building is a tall rising dome that sits on top of a hill, which I assume is the drop leading to unseen, underground jail cells. A corn maze of gates and fences also catches my attention from the air. They weave through the perimeter in a large box, most likely starting from one side and ending at the base of the hill to the building. Now that I look at it, it's more like a labyrinth. I wonder how the Progs got in without Neftin pounding down the gates or Vendra lifting them away.

I find signs directing to a docking bay at the building's north side, but it looks completely reserved for the staff. I try to fly atop to the building so I can see more, but the closer I get to it, the stronger I feel a nostalgic force pulling me back. I stop mid-air and see satellite-like barriers revolving around the Penitentiary that create a forcefield over the entire landscape.

The central controls beep as Aphelion's voice chimes sadly, _"I am sorry, Ratchet. My Xulian overthrusters are unable to penetrate the penitentiary barriers."_

"It's alright, Aphelion. I'll see if I can touch down elsewhere," I say, making a 90 degree turn and continually scanning out the cockpit below.

"I do not believe they are apt to having visitors," Clank says next to me.

"If not, looks like they're gonna have to start a new tradition."

After circling the streets for another five minutes, I finally find a spot that won't get me fined two blocks off. I hook Clank to my back and walk down the practically soundproof streets. It kind of feels refreshing to get out of the city bustle.

"Well, here are the gates," I announce when approached. "Now, how to get inside...?"

"Freeze!"

I turn left to where the voice sounds, and a guard in a light blue uniform marches armed and angry.

"I've waited six months for this..." he muses, stopping in front of me and clicking his gun back. "I didn't quit my job at Galaxy Burger not to get paid to shoot one day..."

Hands half-raised, I stammer, "H-hey, I'm not looking for any trouble-"

"Who are you?"

My head tilts perplexedly at this, though it's kind of relieving to know that some people aren't familiar with me. I'm plenty used to guns in my face, but I'm unnerved by the way he comes closer to me, backing me into the hexagonal chain link fence. Well, Clank's face, for the most part.

"I'm Ratchet..." I say and swallow. "This is the real me, no hologuise or anything...You can even pull my tail to know it's me, though I wouldn't recommend that..."

I feel my elbow being jabbed and hear a balked version of my name behind me.

"Oh." I turn three-quarters around, probably convincing the guy that I carry a death-bot as a backpack by the way Clank's most likely glaring at him. "Mind letting me move up? My pal Clank's getting a little squished..."

He does step back but refuses to lower his weapon. I feel a tug at my back as Clank detaches himself, approaching the guard with a calm and reassuring face.

"Sir, we are active members of the Polaris Defense Force," Clank explains, easily reaching in his chest compartment and showing his PD badge with matching photo.

Why do I hesitate to show mine? Let's just say when receiving identification badges _someone_thought his foundation was going to melt if he had to sit any longer under the beaming hot spotlights, ruining not only his dashing good looks but making the makeup label look bad; thus, while disobeying the logical and simpler order of tallest in the back, decided to make himself next in line after me, tripped over some taped-down cords, and viola. Snapshot of my mushed face and my left eye poked by his large finger. He then had the nerve to go up to the holoscreen displaying it and comment to himself, _I even fall like a superhero!_

Time was money and each member had only one shot. I have yet to get mine retaken.

I nod and display my badge, my fingers over the picture.

"As such, we are allowed access to buildings that need our reconnaissance." Clank steps closer, and the guard points his pistol at my pal's little head. I'm by his side with a small glower set to my face. "We are here to acquire the containment status of Vendra and Neftin Prog."

"We have a rule here..." the guard glances away for a second, "Uh, 97-A: 'No outside parties permitted for visitations until we contain, decontaminate, and detain prisoners for at least 24 hours.'"

"If possible, could a supervisor verify our profession and honor our request despite that rule?" Clank asks.

"He's in a meeting now. Be ready to sit out here for a while. If I take it through him, he'll let you in. _If _those badges aren't something printed freely off the Holonet or something."

"We can assure you they're the real deal," I say, pocketing my badge. "There's someone else we're adding to our party: her name is Talwyn Apogee. Can you remember that?"

The man answers by slowly placing his weapon in its holster, pacing around, and muttering commands through his comm-unit. He gives a few stiff nods and more mumbling before turning back to Clank and me.

"Alright, Fuzzball, here's the deal..."

I listen while trying not to laugh at how watery that name-call is.

"There're little crimes riddled all over Meridian City. My boss says Polaris Defense dispatches squads for these, and he wants to see you in action. Either he needs to see you on the news tonight wrangling a Blargian Snagglebeast, or you two bring any criminal here. That's how you'll prove your status."

"You're kidding," I deadpan.

He shrugs. "Hey, this Pent is in the city's name but that doesn't mean any of its employees live here. Not all of us know you as the Famous Ratchet or whatever your title is. People like me, we're from the densely populated towns on Igliak, y'know?"

I go to give a smug reply but my nav-unit flashes on my chest. I patch the holographic transmission through.

_"Ratchet, come in. Looks like we got a bit of a problem."_ It's Tal, and her face looks pretty grave.

"A bit I could deal with now," I reply.

She shakes her head at me._ "Well, here it is. My nav-unit is picking up a league of Thugs infiltrating the Meridian City Bank!"_

"Looks like their boss didn't pay them like he promised," I say, thinking of all the gripes Neftin barked at the mercenaries hired to kill me. "Trace the Thugs' location to my nav-unit. I'll see you there." She nods.

"Assuming Miss Apogee is part of the operation?" Clank asks.

I quickly end the transmission if she hears that. "What, you don't want her to be?"

"This is Thugs-for-Less. A mercenary group hired for killing," Clank seems to remind me. "It does not seem reasonable to put her life in danger."

"Clank, she carries an Alpha Disruptor."

He gives me an unconvinced, half-lidded look.

"Just sayin'. She's a pretty good shot."

We hurry back to my ship; I have Aphelion come closer to us as soon as we're out of the forcefield limits. I start up her thrusters. "Well, Aphelion, looks like we found ourselves some live bait."

* * *

The sky is a dusky yellow and blue, dark enough for breaking and entering. I pull the steering wheel back toward my chest, taking us up almost ninety degrees into the clouds.

"I'm 275 cubits above the bank now, Tal," I communicate through radio with her on-screen. "Three Thug dropships are sitting out front and...yep, one's illegally parked in handicap."

"One more was flying a little too close to me before you got here, but I was riding his blind spot. I think it might still be lurking through the air. It's already crashed itself into seven other ships that got in its way, trying to keep them away from here," Talwyn says. I see her ship fly in behind mine.

"It sounds like the ship that tried to ram us, Ratchet," Clank says worriedly.

I nod. "If so, we'll have to think of another way in."

Talwyn glances below. "By the looks of things, none of the ships unloaded."

"Must be waiting for an initiation."

"Do you suggest we land in front of them and engage?" Clank asks.

"Not really," I answer him. "They'll ambush us before we can even open our cockpits."

Talwyn is making a quick command for backup, and during this, Clank mutters to me:

"Then, the best way in..."

"Is up," I finish. I speak up now that she's done. "You may think I'm crazy, Tal, but we've gotta do a HALO jump to the rooftop."

To this, she looks at me, then Clank, then raises an eyebrow at me.

"That is not happening," she says sternly.

"Aw, come on!" I crack a smile, trying not to laugh at her. "It's exhilarating! Helps clear your head!"

"It is also a Top Twenty for bucket lists," Clank adds with a giggle.

Talwyn ends her transmission on-screen and switches over to my nav-unit, her holographic face lining up with mine.

_"I trust you, Ratchet...Since I do, you're sure this is 'exhilarating'?" _She's shaky, but her voice is also softer.

"You bet." My smile turns warm, and so do other parts of me for a sec, then I shake it off with an exhale, leaning back in my seat. "You ready for this?"

She fully cuts me off now. From close behind, I hear a loud scream, and it takes me a second to realize Talwyn did it. Then she's back on-screen only to say, as if complying originally, "Ready."

Our ships are on autopilot. The cockpits open, wind flapping my eyelids and gums. I wish I could turn around and see Talwyn's likely big-eyed expression, but the ejector seats deploy. I latch Clank to my back as the descent begins.

I finish my descent quietly activating Clank's heli-pack; Talwyn fires up her jet-pack, smoothing down her hair with one hand and taking out her blaster with the other. I want to ask how the ride was but, again, she's taking out her blaster.

While the rooftop is pitch-black, I don't risk activating my Clank light, even atop an eight-story corporate bank. The roof is a large concrete square with various cast-iron pipes, water tanks, and a fire escape that resembles a trap-door. I crouch near the northwest corner just far enough to look down unseen despite the darkness.

When I look over, I see one Thug with a helmet approaching the entrance, tossing in his hands what looks from here like a large rock.

"What do you see?" Talwyn's silhouette whispers.

"I was expecting droves, but there's only one Thug," I reply, turning my head a little. "He might be using the old-school rock-in-the-window break-in."

Clank moves a little along my back, and asks, "Could you move aside for a moment, Miss Talwyn?"

She does, whirling around and propping up her blaster. "What, did you see someone?"

"I do not know..." Clank answers dismissively.

"I think we should watch each other's backs, Ratchet," Talwyn suggests firmly. "We don't know where the Thugs will be popping up."

"Yeah..." I hop to my feet, grabbing my wrench. "Alright. We'll take the fire escape down to the-"

A resounding explosion cuts me off. I crawl over the edge again, seeing if the explosion will send the building crumbling over itself, but it is less destructive, shattering only the glass, which I see spraying out with light and smoke. I should've known it was one of those firecracker Thugs. As the smoke clears, the dropships empty, scores of Thugs cackling as they march inside heavily armed.

"Let's go!" I call, and Talwyn and I run toward the fire escape.

I activate my Clank light, crouching down to the ground door. Just as I'm about to open the hatch, the door flings back, clanging like a dropped gong. My large ears ring profusely, and the sound of Thugs jumping out with battle cries registers like I'm underwater. I bite back a swear and leap back, my grip tight on my wrench.

Three Thugs flank Talwyn and me in a semicircle, the ones in front of each of us raising their spiked clubs intimidatingly around their tongues. The one in the middle sizes us up, his hands behind his back, where I'm sure he's hiding an equally deadly weapon.

"Looks like it's a pretty fair match," I joke. "Three against three..."

I hear Clank's head snap back to look at me, then he sighs and shakes it.

"Look, Boris, he's like a big fluffy teddy-cat!" He pats the softer end of his club against his hand.

"No, lookie _here, _Gleb! I ain't never seen so many curves beneath a body suit!" This one looks close to drooling.

His comment earns a growl from Talwyn and a blaster shot to the face. The Thug bends back in a fashion I've only seen in holofilms, then springs back dumbfounded.

"This broad's got skill!" Boris comments, and Gleb laughs.

The one in the middle snaps his fingers on both hands, which orders the two to freeze and stare at us.

"You got a name, too?" I ask the middle one foolishly.

The leader tosses his head as a nod, using one hand to pull down some of the belts on his armor and letting us see the tattoo on his chest: VLAD.

"Huh." Then I duck with a swing to the groin at Gleb, the Thug front of me. He doubles over, whining about the "immense level of pain."

Boris comes toward me, bothered that I hurt his friend. I flap my hand, inviting him, slapping the head of my wrench into my palm. Then, a whistle cuts through the clear air. Talwyn is levitating high with her jet-pack, twirling her blaster. "You're mine, _Boris_."

I smirk her way with an affirmative nod. Gleb looks finished nursing his crotch, now seething mad. His long jaw slacks, his tongue slithers out, stilled by licking the spiky points again.

"Let's see how you like nails up _your _crotch, Lombax..."

My smirk widens. "I'm sure it isn't worse than the embarrassing itch I got from Qwark's Personal Hygienator."

"We'll see!"

Gleb throws his club back underhand, ready for a low but devastating swing. I expect it and back-flip out of its way. He charges forward and strikes his club against my wrench, throwing his weight over me. I drop to one knee, a few spikes coming dangerously close to my eyes.

"Clank," I grunt, "my belt...Quantum...Repulsor!"

My knee's about to give out. I feel Clank's extended arm scramble through my belt until it grabs my Quantum Repulsor. I take it in my left hand, fumbling for the trigger.

A bright flash of shockwaves reverberates through my hand and into the air, sending Gleb high across the roof before he tumbles backwards. Once his head slams against the water tank, he's out.

I scan the skies until I find Talwyn, who's trying to take down Boris midair. She looks fine, so I focus on the eerily quiet Vlad. What kind of weapon is he hiding? He continues to stand in a nonchalant pose, his eyes towards me.

"Alright, Vlad, show me what you've got."

I can tell this Thug doesn't say much, so I'm sort of making a guess at when he'll attack, and with what. He mutely reveals what was behind his back: small, triangular throwing knives wedged between each knuckle. He chucks one at me, and it nearly grazes the tip of my ear; I pull them back protectively against my head. I think about using my Winterizer to transform the knives into Christmas tree cookies, but my hesitation allows Vlad to make another move; he jumps atop a pipe structure, his weight teetering it a bit. He gains leverage, fist raised to aim at me. I prepare for it, but I don't prepare for him to aim his other hand, whilst his eyes still on me, aiming somewhere off my light source. I see glimpses of shiny sharpness shoot down somewhere on the tiled concrete, while others take aim at my face. I strafe and use Clank's heli-pack to scale a water tank, becoming level with the Thug. There are overlapping pipes that act as a momentary fort as I plank flatly, ears to tail, to load my Plasma Slayer.

"What is he doing with those knives? He seems to throw them aimlessly," Clank ponders to me.

"Unless you count me as aimless," I joke, tilting my gun so the ammo rolls into the barrel.

"He may have an ulterior motive, Ratchet. Be careful."

I use the modified night-vision scope to follow another awkwardly thrown knife. Some flag seems to hang off the handles as if pointing off landmarks. I zoom in to level 3 and see it's aimed for one of the water tanks, but I can't make out the addition.

"Well, if he was aiming for Tal, he was way off," I comment, noting that the tank is just below where she's still flying and shooting.

I hear a sharp, metal-on-metal stab that startles me, and it doesn't take me long to realize Vlad aimed for the water tank I'm crouching on. I squeeze my face into the space below the pipes to look down, letting my Clank light decipher the object's strange attachment: a mini pyrocidic blaster mine.

The second I'm about to scramble up and leap for my life, Vlad presses a button that detonates the water tanks. The explosion doesn't drain the water from the point that he inserted the blade but shoots out with plenty of force to the top. I guess they acted as a sort of syringe for the bomb. I'm blasted high - any higher and I'd touch a star cluster - and I wonder how Clank is taking it as we're both engulfed by water. It's enough to distract and disallow him to break my fall, and I slam hard on my back on the jagged hole in the top of the tank. The sharp, jutted edges dig into the back of my neck and the small of my back. I feel blood there and bruising throughout my back, but it's nothing a little nanotech won't fix.

I shiver in the night air, my pressurized Nebulox suit not apt for swimming conditions, sopping wet against my fur. I groan and sit up on the intact edge, shaking water out of my right ear.

"You alright, Clank?" I cough and snort water out of my nose.

"I am feeling a bit _under the weather_," Clank grumbles shaking water out of his chest compartment. Guess his mouth was open.

Ignoring how messy we both feel, Clank helps me descend the tank, and I run toward the other one. It suffered the same fate, its water completely wasted and pooling on the rooftop. I don't see Talwyn, and I glance around and call her name.

"Right here," she says, sounding both embarrassed and angry.

I shine my Clank light to where her voice directs, and I find her sitting on the wet floor, some of her hair matting wetly to her face. I gape at her, but I don't realize I'm shining directly into her face as if she's a caught crook. She shields her eyes and glares in my direction; because there's only one setting to my light, I aim it off at her feet so she can adjust. Once she does, her eyes are big and her frown is deep. "Went for a swim too, huh?"

I chuckle. "Caught me by surprise."

"Me, too. Damn water extinguished my jet-pack."

"Explains why you look so chill now."

My chortle dies out as Tal halfheartedly lifts her gun at me.

"It seems the Thugs ran away," Clank notes, bringing us back to the serious matter.

"Probably down through the fire escape," says Talwyn, standing up and rubbing her bum. "Let's stop fooling with these Thugs and stop the ones that are stealing the city's bolts, huh?"

We slide down the long golden rod to a catwalk, descend the stairs, and reach the highest floor. Red carpet interior leads to an elevator, and a steel door opens to a stairwell.

"Stairs," Talwyn commands. "Elevator's an unwise gamble."

I glance down at long, steep stairs circling down into a hidden abyss of more stairs. There's a magnetic strip that goes down the walls, and where it ends in stairs, it makes up for another descent on the other side. I leap toward it and hope I'm not falling as my heart jumps to my throat, but I feel it knock against my pulse as I'm magnetically pulled to the side wall. I turn my head to the right at Talwyn, wondering how she'll get down.

"I'm pretty light on my feet," she says, reading my mind again. "Race ya down!"

With a giddy grin, I begin my descent that appears sideways from her standpoint. By the time I gravitate toward the second strip, Talwyn's descended five flights of stairs. She's still a way's above me and the time I clear twenty, she's out of sight.

I hear Clank call my name occasionally, but I'm so far in the lead, I ignore him.

Once I'm at the bottom of the lobby floor, it's clear I'm victorious. I wait by the elevator where I catch my breath for practically no reason.

"I almost want to start whopping Thugs without her," I exhale to Clank.

"I wonder why Miss Talwyn wanted to make a game out of a mission..."

"Lightens the mood when you're about to risk your life, pal. Organic protocol." I fan myself.

He seemed to ponder the correlation between life expectancy and risk-taking until he and I hear the stairway exit door open.

I straighten, hold up my wrench, and expect a Thug, but it's Talwyn, and she holds out her arms.

"'Bout time you showed up!"

There's not a drop of sweat on her! "What- How-"

"I tried to tell you, Ratchet," Clank says with a shrug.

"The elevator was a _gamble_, and I took it." She grins devilishly and turns so I won't see it. "You'll have plenty of time to see me beat you in a race later, come on!"

Despite our fun, we get back to business immediately. Tal's warning was right; Thugs have begun rioting. The expansive lobby is a drunken party of papers flying through the air, Thugs shouting and knocking into each other to grab money bags, and shattered glass from teller booths, countertops, and two chandilers littering the red carpet floor.

Most importantly, I hear screams echoing around the room as civilians and workers scramble out of random blast ranges and into doors or corners of walls.

"Tal, get any and every citizen inside evacuated to safety!"

This way, if things go wrong, the innocent don't have to go...

As she moves, I shake my head and focus myself. I dig through my belt and summon a Zurkon family to stop Thugs from coming in or out. They make noisy comments about earning kills in exchange for bolts as I run back toward the vault.

About three scores of Thugs are helping themselves to bags of bolts as big as my whole body. Some pass them along like hot potatoes while others try to carry armfuls. I whistle and shout to get their attention. About half of them stop and look my direction. I see Gleb and Boris again, and they converse.

"Aw, he's even shorter and furrier in the light!" says Gleb.

"Hey, isn't Boss still offering that 10,000-bolt bonus for his head?" Boris suddenly asks.

"His butt's in jail! Ain't that why we're robbing banks, ya fool?"

Boris gets a slap to the back of the head. "Hey, you wanna go?"

"No, stupid! We're supposed to be killing the Lombax! You want free money _and _a bonus, yeah?!"

"Oh, yeah! He owes me for the crotch swing _and _the bump on my head!"

About forty other swords and clubs raise in one fluid motion.

"What were you thinking, Ratchet?" Clank mutters.

"Don't ask."

A pile of K.O.'d Thugs and empty artillery clips later, my heart's struggling to keep up with the constant dodging, lunging, and strafe-flipping. My Zurkon Family reloads are running on empty, and I won't be able to barricade the Thugs for much longer without backup. I haven't left the vault area, but I'm relieved there's no more screaming.

"How's the evac going, Tal?"

A sword slash distorts her face for a second, and so does the fact that the attack's proximity sends my heart into overdrive. "_Surprisingly well. I downloaded a floor plan from the computer and ran a bioscan to make sure no one was left behind. I've got everyone out by the fountain a few hundred cubits outside the back emergency exit."_

"Nice work." My smile couldn't be more grateful.

She smiles back. "Looks like you're having a ball in there. Backup should be here by now!"

"Eh, no need. Think I've got the weapon that'll finish the job. Something that'll scream _stop robbing our bank_, y'know?" The thought just came to mind.

"I hope it is not _extremely _destructive," Clank groans. He knows me too well.

I smirk. "Time to raise hell."

I use this next move to justify the evac. There's a strange, sudden silence broken by shudders and gulps as I pull back the safety on my R.Y.N.O Extreme.

When I say I raised hell, let's say it involved countless surrendered money bags, tons of tripping, a few cries for mommy, and just a wee bit more structural damage.

I find myself laughing at this circus performance while I listen to the doom music installed in the gun. Laughing feels pretty damn good.

* * *

It turns out that the backup Talwyn called for was working to take out the ramming dropship. Although they didn't follow her order, she was grateful for that. Galactic Rangers throw Thugs into transport vessels.

The other dropships were tipped and bound by Mag-Nets, courtesy of Polaris Defense. It eased us having to chase Thugs if they escaped. Meridian City police have also managed to come now that the threat to the sky's defeated, and they've placed a hefty parking ticket on the dropship in handicap.

Clank, Talwyn, and I sit on the wings of our ships while the work switches over.

"Does this mean we could see the Progs now, Ratchet?" Clank asks.

"I think so. The Thugs are headed to the Meridian City Penitentiary for questioning. I hear the police will give us the credit."

"We can finally get those answers." My tiny pal sounds both serious and relieved.

I notice he said _we;_ Clank and I are also moments away from hearing the horrible truth. I lean my throbbing head on the cool exterior of my ship. My eyes drift to the sky, the glow of Clank's eyes in my peripheral. He's observing me, and I'm tempted to turn away because I know what he'll ask next.

"Are _you_ alright, Ratchet?"

I turn on my side and don't answer him immediately. Talwyn looks at me, too, now that I'm facing her, and I feel stuck in the middle. She's going to be asking the questions while Clank and I listen; at least, that's the plan. I imagine how hard that would be for her if I wasn't here. Death persuaded me to run from this galaxy once, but I wouldn't dare do it now with this interrogation coming. My words back at the museum come to mind again. I couldn't read her mind then, and I couldn't now. For causing this mess, I want to fix it. I turn back where I was and sigh. "Not really."

A police officer approaches the three of us with a small notepad and flashlight. "Could we ask one of you some questions?"

"I'll go," Talwyn volunteers, passing Clank and me with a grin.

We return it, and once she's out of the parking lot, I lean back on my elbows. _Soon, _I think, _she'll be asking her _own _questions._

"She was smiling."

"What?" My thoughts break as I turn to Clank.

"When Miss Apogee executed her HALO jump, her eyes were closed, and she was smiling." Clank playfully nudged my elbow. "You looked like you wanted to know."

This is why I love this guy. Clank sees sky when we jump as well as in every situation with his enlivening words. Talwyn probably thought of Cronk and Zephyr and the battles they related each jump to. My eyes close, and I see my fur billowing in a fall, two old warbots hooting beside me.

"Glad to hear."


	3. Decoding Crimes

_Trials and Abrogations_

_Chapter 2: Decoding Crimes_

_interludes_

Qwark's 'new friend' seems to mind other matters as he walks without much regard to the captain. Halls are lined beautifully with hand-crafted wooden doors that almost reach the full height of their walls. These doors have golden plaques beside them that display pretty important names, Qwark guesses.

Judge Isidore Bronislaw is a tall and wide Hoolefoid. His bald, magenta-skinned head rounds off to ridged, pointy ears, wide-set teal eyes, a long, narrow nose, and thin, darker lips. Add blackened blisters to the cheeks, forehead and spots that just miss the eyes, and you'd doubt he grew up by Hoolefar's waters. He walks in quite a ghostly fashion, his lengthy, swishing robes covering his feet. One of his thick hands locks around his wrist behind his back, and the green hero notices they're also awfully burned, black and blistered red. With this in mind, Qwark decides to include burn cream in his new lineup of _Blaster_ products.

Bronislaw floats to a stop, Qwark nearly bumping into him. He fumbles with keys to a door named _DARKS G._

"It _is_ getting rather late, Captain Qwark - why don't you head on home? I wouldn't want to use up any more of your time..."

"No bother at all!" However, Qwark remains a little nervous at the sudden brush-off. "Probably need to sleep on that paper idea, huh? Well, if you're still considering, I have a picture of me escorting them here in my camera! Uh, does the paper accept selfies?"

"Quite sure it will. I am meeting with my newest criminal defense attorney, who'll look into this case. We're going to be doing a lot of big talk that I'm sure will bore you, so...Good day, Captain Qwark." He steps into the dark crack in the door, the interior obscured.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bronislaw? Last thing, I promise! Could you make sure they mention my incoming holofilm, _My Blaster Runs 2 Hot_? Preferably in red ink so that even the colorblind will see it..."

Qwark continues to ramble even as the tall door is slowly closing. "You know, if I was a lawyer, I'd like to do that one-worded 'Objection!' line...Hey, there's an idea for the film! I'll disguise myself as one of those brainiacs and then _BOOM! _Throw in some CG explosions and reveal myself to the ICE exterminators _also _in disguise..._and I'll add you to the credit roll-!_"

The door locks behind itself.

Qwark is left dumbfounded for a second, but then he turns to walk toward a series of escalators leading to the exit.

He fulfilled his duty as a prison escort and, unlike Ratchet, actually succeeded! He'd be given a spot in the paper in his honor, which meant bigger publicity in Polaris, bigger holofilm roles, and a bigger ego to gloat with. Overall, a Qwarktastic day. And just to be unselfish, he briefly wondered what kind of day his new friend Isidore Bronislaw was having. Probably an off one, seeing how the conversation gradually drifted from the super-zero's valiant deed and toward the satisfaction that specific criminals were in Bronislaw's possession and could finally see conviction. Qwark remembers the judge continually rambling about that until his phone rang, during which Qwark rehearsed some kind of redirection.

_"Please excuse my phone calls, Captain. It was one of my guards. Someone was seen trespassing. Young ones these days always want to play the hero."_

_"And they can never get it right unless they have me as a mentor, am I right? And I actually_ _tamed_ _a Blargian Snagglebeast!_"

Though only slightly curious about both the Progs and who trespassed earlier, Qwark guesses he'll teach the kid about heroism sometime tomorrow. After all, good heroes need rest!

* * *

"I thought he'd never leave."

The judge hears the young voice direct towards an oversized armchair, flickers of fire lighting the leather cozily.

"Nothing wrong with showing a fellow around. Does that bother you, Mr. Gumblebrick?"

There's the clatter of a china cup returning to a coaster and the creak of an ancient chair becoming weightless. A pint-striped suit and a stunningly bright brooch against the lapel adorn the man's olive green skin. His short-cut dark hair and brown eyes frame his young face. The full lips beneath the drooping handlebar moustache disjoin with a breezy smile.

"Not at all. As you can tell by my mood brooch, Mr. Bronislaw, orange means I'm quite content."

Bronislaw sees this as an invitation to step forward and shake hands with his subordinate. The two smile like the good acquaintances they are, remaining standing and professional.

Bronislaw is one of few in the Pent that has heard Gumblebrick's remarkable story. He was raised on Planet Endako in the Bogon galaxy as a foster kid, and was quite self-sufficient: by age five, he was read the Encyclopedia of Planetary Asymmetry cover to cover in class, outsmarting even the Terachnoid kids; he graduated high school at age ten; and he recently completed the long stretch of law school with a minor in galactic history, now in his early twenties. Bronislaw met him in a referral from the President of Bogon and hired him immediately. For the past two years, Bronislaw has befriended Gumblebrick, watching his skill grow as quickly as his moustache. The young man represented the criminal side of court without ever batting a judgmental eye.

The judge and chief was also set on keeping _this _attorney, as he was accustomed to letting each new one go after one year. Maybe because it's the boy's _untold_ past that intrigues him most, as he enjoys small bites of it on rare occasions.

"Now, shall we begin?" says Gumblebrick, gesturing to two manila envelopes resting on his shadowed desk, stamped and labeled: PROG, NEFTIN; PROG, VENDRA.

The judge's half singed eyebrows raise to the very top of his forehead. "_These two _were escorted here by Captain Qwark?" This is more asked to himself than to the young attorney, who looks at him bewildered.

"I suppose so," Gumblebrick answers, watching the judge take the older twin's file into his hand shakily. "Did you suspect other, _less _deadly space criminals captured simultaneously?"

Bronislaw's agape mouth closes slowly. "It's not that, it's just..._ironic,_ in every sense. I knew I had to keep bystanders off of my criminals, but...This is..."

Gumblebrick swipes Vendra's file from the table. He analyzes his boss, who practically falls to a sit in his once occupied chair. The judge untwists the pulley-like string binding the file. Runs charred fingers through the tops of each paper that fans out like an accordion. Lifts a few and spreads them out against the table beside Gumblebrick's empty cup. A recent mugshot of Neftin's grimacing face and profile, with a small bio in chicken scratch. A grocery list of "confessions." Reports from interviews of his location at large half a year ago.

"He hasn't changed a bit..." the judge mutters below a whisper, the crackles of the fire absorbing it.

"Sir?" Gumblebrick asks in a believably concerned voice, masked with his stoic expression and leafing of Vendra's file.

_I've played by the rules for a very long time, _Bronislaw muses inside, afraid the fire won't mask these words. _This could be my chance to inflict ultimate conviction._

"Mr. Gumblebrick, I'm only allowed to tell you so much. Because we are so well acquainted, I do not want a bias to persuade my verdicts. You are quite aware of this, but I must repeat this to you with practically every case I've involved you with for the past year, _all _criminal court cases..."

Gumblebrick nods obligatorily. "I understand, go on."

"You are representing twins Vendra and Neftin Prog." His professional voice reigns over his tired slouch. "They've been accused, through confession, of murder, theft, arson, and kidnapping. Vendra was convicted of the last two crimes six months ago on Planet Terachnos. The blame for the recently accused crimes appears to lean toward her, so you must find a way to equalize it, or eliminate it."

Gumblebrick sets Vendra's file down on his desk, then returns to the side of his chair. His brooch turns bright yellow, and he can hardly contain an excited chortle. "Won't this be fun. Have you decided what you are going to do first?"

"When the Polaris Defense Force arrives tonight with their 'requested package,' _you_ will have Vendra on the interrogation floor as I promised." Bronislaw notices his attorney about to ask, and he stands, answering, "Yes, just one of them for now. _I_ will be speaking to this one-" he motions said person with a tightly gripped flap of the envelope "-in the meantime."

* * *

Rumors of tussles both self-inflicted and initiated stain the chambers offered. Unchanged and overused, the too-small bed whimpers when sat upon. The three chipped walls reek of dried blood, recycled body odor, and Agorian sweat. Throughout the floor, occasional slams reverberate from various cells like distant drums. From a black-belt Blarg to a Platinum champion Agorian, here lies a slew of compulsive, domestically violent bullies on the tenth level of the Penitentiary.

Neftin Prog contemplates in his cell, which, from the dim shadows and empty neighbors, can allow deep thought. He is in prison, security heavy, and treatment manageable. He was separated from Vendra, as predicted. He can barely get around and muses that he either needs a bigger cell, or a smaller body, though both seem impossible.

_"Why are you so scrawny, Nef?" _He recalls a shrill voice, the unchanged anger of his seven-year-old sister. _"Look at these arms! They're like chicken legs! If they were tougher, you could beat up those punks that picked on me today! Again!"_

Now the thickness of a Snagglebeast's tongue. Veins like vines run down his pale arms and pump blood through the cybernetic pipes implanted from a large, slouched shoulder blade to his back. The contraption's innards around his chest and torso are exposed to the air now, dark purple and pulsating, because even the largest jumpsuits made the Nether feel like it was going to rip. Until a custom-made suit could be situated around his strange body, Neftin was forced to remain bare from the waist up.

This body, his _life..._Vendra sacrificed so much for him. And he turned her in as well as himself, thinking he was doing what was best for them both. Neftin remembers spending years thinking of some kind of way to repay her when she reconstructed his body to life, so he reluctantly decided to help her reunite with the Nethers. Eventually, he, too, became immersed in the project, so much that he spent months researching transdimensional experimentation, aiding her with every trial and tweaking each error. And when she'd finally see her friend, she'd _thank him_. _L__ook _at_ him_ again, instead of longingly at empty walls and dejectedly at exploded machinery.

A slam to the ground from the cell above him generates like an earthquake, crumbling his thoughts. Neftin sighs. The inmates are so rough, tough, and violent that Neftin is surprised he doesn't see any of the Thugs-

The door to the level slides open; escorted by a score of guards are a score of space crocodiles. Some march in obedient silence, while others struggle and whine. A few even mutter like scaredy cats about a "brutally armed Lombax." Neftin's about to lean into the bars and get his recidivists' attention, until two in particular come down babbling, pause, and then slam into the bars at the sight of him.

"Hey, where's our money, huh?! 'Cuz of you, we got busted for robbin' banks- Oww!" One Thug is headbutted lightly by the one next to him.

"Remain _silent_, ya fool!" He glares at Neftin like he wants to spit at him. "He ain't worth it. I can't believe our boss would stoop so low!"

"Alright," barks a guard, squaring their shoulders away, "move it. No need to bother him."

A third Thug, who'd lagged close behind the two talkers, wordlessly flipped Neftin a lowly cuffed bird upon passing.

Neftin wasn't good with naming over two hundred Thugs, but he was familiar with the three "high school buddies": Vlad, Boris, and Gleb. Hard to forget the names of the ones who advertised Destructapalooza. Especially since Vlad got his tongue cut out for a slip of a swear word.

After the Thugs clear out, another figure would've camouflaged behind them if not for his height. A wide man stops in front of the Nether's cell, his dark attire delaying sight adjustment. Neftin leans up, but doesn't press into the bars, keeping within the safe shadows of his cell. The man is a Hoolefoid, with blisters throughout his body, nobly known despite that. When teal pupils meet Neftin's single eye, time seems to slow, the background noise quieting. Silk sleeved arms spread to Neftin as if he wants to hug a dear friend.

"Neftin Prog. Read your files, and I'll say I'm astounded by the list of possible convictions on you."

Neftin scoffs, knowing feigning strangeness is futile. "'Vote for Isidore Bronislaw.' I remember your election flyers, most of which I've seen in the trash, from about a year ago. Vendra and I were here stealing the museum's tour-bot."

"Now re-elected Judge and Chief of this Penitentiary, if you'd be so kind." The judge clears his throat, adjusting his snappy tone. " Now that we're acquainted, let's return to _your_ circumstances. I see you behind bars, so I assume you did something _very_ wrong. Your violent nature is beyond that of even Romulus Slag, but you do much less skewering and more conclusive beating. Which is why murder stunned me most. Your control's finally snapped, hasn't it?"

Large teeth grind together angrily. "You said you just read my case files. Stop acting like you know me well."

To this, Bronislaw smirks lightly, knowing the large Nether has more to say.

Neftin looks down, ashamed, at his hands. "I'd be delusive to say _I _didn't kill them, but I've never had someone else's blood _and _guts on my hands-."

The judge holds up his muddy pink palm. "Now, I suggest you say no more. Don't you know that you're digging your own grave just by saying what you're saying now?" His gentle tone turns belittling again. "Or are you that used to spilling the beans, such as _theft_ and _murder_? Don't you know that you have the right to remain silent, to understand that anything said can be used against you in court, that you can be issued an attorney in your defense?" He sees Neftin trying to comply by biting his lip. "You may speak to answer, Neftin."

"I know all that. Just never thought of it...when I opened my 'big mouth.'" There's a guilty meekness to his voice.

"Here's how _my_ Penitentiary runs." Bronislaw steps closer to the bars as if they should cradle his words. "All criminals brought here are given a fighting chance. If taken here, they are kept in cells until a court case is arranged. About eighty percent of lawsuits are civil, like damages from a bank robbery, while the remaining twenty are criminal, as in a murder accusation. One of my attorneys represent you, the defendant, while the prosecution represents their client's problems. After I've listened to both sides, I reach the verdict in either case, with the aid of a jury in a criminal sense. Punishments vary from a few months to life imprisonment, and, not issued as of yet, the _death penalty_."

With a leer, the Hoolefoid steps back, the large Nether never losing face.

"Instead of letting the two of you waste away in jail, you and your sister are going to court. When you brought yourself here, you were not issued your rights, correct? Instead, you were asked questions so that you could be convicted without your voice. I will listen to both sides well and make the decision that'll bring justice to this city - no, the entire galaxy."

Neftin shakes his head, those words rattling inside. " Court? But, why bother? You'll only convict us for what we did. We're _criminals_-!"

"Who are innocent until proven guilty. I will return with further details. I wish you and your sister luck."

Bronislaw steps back and walks away with his quiet, almost afloat gait. Before Neftin thinks he's gone, the judge's voice carries to his cell.

"By the way...a few members of the Polaris Defense Force are here to speak with you two. We're taking Vendra for the time being. If she's good, maybe you'll see her tonight."

When the floor's door seals shut, it's like all other activity resumes.

* * *

There's no way to tell how much time has passed; Vendra is miles beneath the sun and moon.

It took a complaint for one of the patrol guards to finally liberate her of the chains around her wrists. She was rapidly approached from behind at gunpoint by one guard while another undid her bindings. The guards continue to over-exaggerate. Without her powers, a hostile takeover wouldn't be as flawless as the Nebulox's.

The Nether lay on her drab grey bed that mimics a warped rock slate. A sigh wisps from her lips, her eyes lull closed, and she occasionally rubs each sore wrist.

Aside from the perpetual background noise of other inmates (hands shaking the bars, heads banging into walls, or the cries of druggies suffering hallucinations of creatures crawling in their skin) and the shuffling of guards' feet to silence it, a sound scratches at the back of Vendra's skull and spreads the sooner she realizes it:

_Vendra...Vendra. _Vendra!

Her eyes shoot open, dart to the the wall behind her, blank with concrete._ He_ sounds so close, she _knows_ he's here. But that's impossible; all of the Nethers were pulled back into the Netherverse. There's no way he's in her head...Her hands quiver in her lap.

Vendra, koo madap apdo guchri koom yushu...

"So you decided to leave me with a little parting gift: telepathy?" she whispers, sitting up on her bed.

Koom gaprofrush haktrah prog subfrush enagori.

"'Sacrifice'? For consuming the powers _you_ gave _me?" _She shakes her head. "How like you."

Apdo taghmi koob, Netherva domegu banen tor.

"What are you talking about?! _You_ betrayed _me!" _She stands, her eyes to the ceiling, the back wall. "You promised me a new life. You promised me we'd be _friends!_"

The creature only grumbles wordlessly.

"What are you planning, Mr. Eye?"

Koom aktram vom apdo...

"Your return...in me?"

Anjo...rababo...shringafu... Sengri pahn apdo hub?

"_No, _just..." She felt anger and rage upon arriving here, but she didn't think it would matter to him. "Get out of my mind. You have no right to speak to me."

Koom aktram...

"Stop..."

...vom apdo...

"Shut up...!" Her eyes squeeze shut.

AKTRAM...KOOM AKTRAM!

"LEAVE!" she screams to the ceiling.

"Now, that's not very nice. Must we start this journey hating each other?"

Vendra gasps loudly and spins around. Standing in front of her cell is a green-skinned man no taller than she, with brown eyes and hair, an overgrown moustache, a suit and a brooch. He looks like he could slip through the bars with how lean he is. Without question, she knows he works with Polaris' legal system, slight nostalgia making her head spin. She has seen court six months ago, but...What now? Why is he...smiling?

"It's nice to meet the criminal responsible for the life I now live."

One of Vendra's eyebrows raise. She tilts her head, silently requesting elaboration.

"It took me years, but I was finally able to get connections to my past. After aimlessly leafing through thousands of could-be ancestors and coincidences, I accessed the IRIS Supercomputer a year ago. I spoke with it for hours and it told me the names of who I can only _think_ to be my parents...taken away from me by a sudden Alpha Nine evacuation. Six months later, when you're arrested for kidnapping Terachnoids, I discover that you and your brother made my parents disappear. And that about twenty years ago, you were lurking in Weeblesnog City at the remainder of Mayor Gumblebrick's term. Name ring a bell?"

The choppy tone in his voice annoys her. She grumbles, "Yes, it does, and I was there. What's your point?"

"Good," he says, ignoring her question. "Because he is my father."

His facade finally falters into one stricken with betrayal. Vendra's mouth gapes in surprise. This man - a boy two decades ago, probably - was on Silox during the evacuation, and had apparently escaped. There were thousands of children evacuated, namely Planet Yerek. Planet Silox was a gullible civilization, with a lazy legislature; it was effortless to convince its people it was haunted by ghosts and demons.

_"The city's been abandoned for decades, we saw to that."_ Could he be a witness siding against her? Were there others remaining of the mess not thoroughly cleaned up?

"What did you say?" Vendra practically whispers.

"Yes, apparently when you were clearing out the entire sector, _some_ people were clinging to not only their lives, but the lives of others. My father wanted the population cleared safely for the sake of voters. He knew how to be nothing else but mayor. Couldn't even spare time to be a _parent. _Because my mother, due to give birth to me any day, decided to give me up for adoption. Funny, right? Well, she had no choice. No time to weigh her options - too many bodies scrambling to escape a haunted world. Planet Endako in the Bogon galaxy was where she thought I'd grow up safe, healthy, and strong. Once old enough to support myself, I grew up to be a lot like you: selfish, greedy, and innovative. Thought no one was good for me until I met my colleagues. Kept every bolt in my name hidden until I decided to engage in intergalactic travel. Desperate, but not senseless, to go to college to become a historian to learn about the family I never knew, yet I abrogated it to study the criminal mind, and how I could dissect it and perhaps justify it...

"Now, why am I telling you this? Because I, Darks Gumblebrick, _your_ criminal defense attorney, am just like you, Vendra Prog. I, too, want to find my family. Although what you did cost me my kinship, I like your will, and I want to draw from it like a river."

Vendra can see longing in the dark brown eyes severed by the prison bars. Her lips are tight as she doesn't speak. So, he was an infant when it happened. No real memories, only facts from the guileless Supercomputer. Despite the title of criminal defense attorney and being on her side, he's still a witness she should get rid of before he can betray her.

"You were left without any last words to your Nether leader. Would you like to hear him apologize in person, or continue to imagine it in your head? All I need is your cooperation. If you trust me, I will do everything in my power to set you and your brother free..."

As if punctuating his words, the cell door slides loudly open.

Once she and Nef are freed, then she'll kill him.

* * *

_chapter 2_

"I haven't seen you this close since I tried to blow you up. How've you been, Ratchet?"

Vendra says that as if it's been weeks, not hours, since we last interacted. I look up to her smirking at me. Now that I'm sitting across from her, I can see that we're about the same height. She may get as much leverage with her hair as I can with my ears, but cut those out, and we're level. I hesitantly drum my fingers against the white table, where above are rows of bright white lights that make a slight halo around Vendra's jumpsuit.

The nostalgia and my pride prevent me from answering her question right away. Vendra still dons her prisoner identification, 9971, and her ungloved hands and orange jumpsuit remind me where she really is. Powerless, pink magic used up banishing her leader. Incarcerated somewhere that's heavily secure, ground level, and not exploding.

At that thought, my mind fills with so much red and deafening crackles that I need a distraction.

My wandering eyes find that the cuffs left obvious and unsightly bruises around her wrists. They're about as bright and hot as the light that begins to make me sweat. I justify that as to why I'm trembling, my hand chattering against the table.

Her hand crawls like a spider toward mine, her long fingers freezing over my knuckles through my gloves. She isn't sympathizing me; I'm not stupid as to think that. My despondence seems like the answer she seeks, and can sense through touch. I slide my hand from the short table into my lap before her fingers can chill or even comfort me.

My shame is too evident with my sweating, shaking, averted eyes and heavy ears. I watched an inferno engulf my friends to charred shreds. I watched a vortex of emotion break on Talwyn's face when I told her I'd talk to Vendra instead of her.

_"Why?" she'd asked, her voice unnaturally quiet. She'd found it again when her fingers clutched my forearm. "You're not going near her yourself, Ratchet!"_

_"This has nothing to do with how dangerous she can be!" I'd said louder than I'd intended. "I'm going."_

_"You promised me, Ratchet." She let me go slowly. "Back at the museum, you said that those answers were something I could ask for."_

_"That was before I knew...I knew we were even doing this now!" It was in that moment that the mahogany hallway seemed dull, the narrow walls suffocating, the door at the short end like a mile walk and leading to a deep coldness that I wouldn't be able to rise up from quickly. I surmised that the shock of all this made me yell, which was unnatural for me as well. "Now that we are, I'm not sure it's the right thing."_

_"Why not?!" Talwyn threw her arms up, her eyebrows just as high._

_"On the Nebulox, I could've reasoned with Vendra - I could've talked her out of setting off the blaster mines in the ship and spared Cronk and Zephyr's lives! I need to say what I should've told her then."_

_"But if you all died, then what?! I'd be right here anyway, so why won't you let me talk to her?!"_

_"Because you weren't there!" I shouted with hands thrown out._

_Talwyn had stepped back at the force of my words, or maybe it was my words themselves. Her lips parted and quivered, and she held onto her elbows tightly and stared down. I looked away as I continued. "Look, I just...couldn't wrap my head around anything after the ship exploded, and it took Clank to snap me out of it and leap for our lives. I want Vendra to know how that made me feel, so she can see what she took away from us. You understand now?"_

_Talwyn stepped in front of me and looked ready to hit me, but instead, her hands fell to my shoulders and shook me a little. I didn't turn away from her intense, slightly reddened, blue eyes._

_"When you get out of there, I want to hear the truth, word for word. Promise me."_

_As I was about to answer, a guard cleared his throat for Talwyn's attention. She turned, removing one hand from me, and replied._

_The guard, with shifting eyes, told her, "If you want to listen to their conversation, we're recording in this room-" he pointed a thumb toward a steel door labeled RECORDING- "if you'd like. Just...don't touch anything." As soon as he finished speaking, he disappeared back into the room._

_Before Talwyn turned to follow, I took hold of her fingers in my hand. She wasn't facing me; I didn't expect her to. My eyes stared at her profile, her bottom lip chewed and her eyes blinking rapidly._

_"Even if you couldn't listen in there, you know I'd tell you everything, right, Tal?" I asked her lowly, a tender voice I rarely used, even with Clank._

_She only nodded, breaking from my hold and entering the advised room quickly._

_I slid my back down the polished brown wall, now about the height of Clank, who I felt pat my shoulder as I put my head against my knees._

_"I shouldn't have yelled at her like that..." I lifted my head and half-expected a lecture from Clank._

_"Miss Apogee is not weak-hearted," Clank assured me. "Even though you did break your promise to her, Ratchet. I honestly believe she could have gotten the answers she sought from Vendra herself, but-" he added quickly before I could curl tighter guiltily - "I do see your reasons for wanting to go instead. Vendra relates to you in ways I am sure Talwyn will not understand without explanation."_

_I only sighed, my voice sapped and tactless._

_"You may know this, but, Vendra was not truly evil. I believe she may have been more misguided than anything. There was a change in her when she was thrown into the Netherverse. She was a different person in there...more...approachable."_

_"I'll...keep that in mind. Thanks, Clank." I stood up, my ears perking with some confidence. "Wish me luck, huh?"_

_I patted Clank on the head affectionately and journeyed down the hall._

I just couldn't have Talwyn asking these burning questions I have for Vendra. Since losing Cronk and Zephyr was something I witnessed, I should resurface it.

"How 'bout a different question," she says at my silence. "Why are you interrogating me?"_  
_

This is the only question _I'll _allow her to ask before I string mine. With a silent inhale, I find my voice and speak honestly.

"Because I want to see the good in you."

Her head turns to the side, her hand over her mouth as she laughs, boisterous and disbelieving.

"Well, I wanna see where it went," I add defensively. She snickers, and I suppress a growl and the urge to stand and get in her face. "This isn't funny, Vendra. You killed my friends, and I'm not letting you leave until I find out why."

"Oh, you _fool_!" she drawls. "You want to extract the evil from me, hero? Imprisoning me mustn't be enough for you."

"Which is why I'm here."

I want her focus, which is why I don't regret what I'm doing now: I return her gesture but completely take her hand in mine. It feels like it's pumping icy blood, stealing the warmth through my glove. Her smirk disappears, her eyebrows lift and she blinks, her lips parting to show her sharp teeth. She looks almost bashful, and that's the idea. I want her as vulnerable as possible. It takes some willpower not to smirk, but I keep the priority on the surface.

"Were you ever able to explain to Neftin exactly why you needed Mr. Eye as your friend? Or did you leave that to your holo-diaries?"

It looks like I hit a nerve as Vendra's fingers twitch above mine. She shakes her head, which probably answers my first question.

"At one point, I had the same ambition as you, and I'd only kept it to myself. I'm willing to open up to you about it...if you do the same."

"The story of your cowardice...and my bitterness...it's intriguing, so...let's do it." Her hand slips from mine, and it warms up again.

I lean forward in my seat and prop my elbows on the table. "The details of my journeys over the past three years aren't important to you, so, I'll be jumping around a bit. I was fine with leaving my life as is, but then Clank went missing. I wanted to know the origins of my past again. I was close to convincing myself that my friends would be fine without me, and that I'd abandon Clank to repair the Dimensionator to find the Lombaxes instead. Because without Clank, I'd thought, I wasn't home, and I needed to find it. Cronk and Zephyr found me with the device, took it by Talwyn's order, and she slapped me. I hardly knew her, and her lecturing threw me for a loop. She said I shouldn't abandon searching for someone I cared about. I then remembered she was searching for her father and wouldn't tolerate anyone mocking those ambitions like I was. The search for my kind was pushed aside for Clank.

"About two years later, I met a Lombax named Alister Azimuth. At first, he thought I was an impostor, but he also hadn't seen another Lombax since they disappeared. He was fascinated by my life as I'd told him, thinking how different things would've been if he'd found me sooner. He knew so much more about hobbies and lifestyles of Lombaxes that mirrored mine but were less...solitary. The only living, breathing Lombax I ever got to know...died too soon. I fled from this galaxy and the the idea of finding the Lombaxes if it meant any one I'd meet could disappear or die. So yeah, I guess I did become scared.

"Finding my race wasn't brought up again until you came in. The whole 'only-one-of-your-kind-living-here' story related back to me on the media multiple times, and that's when I'm sure you and Neftin heard of me way before you were arrested. The stories of how I defeated Nefarious with nothing but a Sonic Eruptor didn't phase you, but the ones of me banishing my quest for my kind did. I think my friends, some that I've lost along the way, have stuck around to hold me here. As long as I have them, I think I'll manage. So..." I close my hands, "story of my cowardice."

Vendra's hands flutter together in a small applause. "_Great_ story." She returns to trying to see through to me, even after my explanation. "I can tell what you're thinking: did your friends die to reinstate your decision to find your race?" She shakes her head, lifting a wrist and examining the bruise. "Not quite."

"It's your turn." _I''ll get that answer, way down from inside you._ "Start with your childhood. You know, how everyone picked on you, ignored your pleas for help, the feeling of being an outcast? Lemme tell ya: been there, done that."

She has no choice but to answer; I've cut pretty deep, even turning the knife to myself. Her eyes grow big, and she stares at the table, recalling. A little Lombax endured the same thing once, twice, countless times.

"My first memory is of Nef and me shivering in some dark, abandoned caves. We shared a baby blanket and were crying, and before long, we were rescued by the Guardian of Meero Orphanage. I thought we'd found a home there, but it turned out to be more of a sham. The teachers and caretakers did the bare minimum overseeing the children, banishing them to detention. All of them were inexperienced volunteers. Of course, as a kid, I knew none of this. I always thought they were just being mean to us. And the kids were even worse -experienced bullies. They never played with me, pulled my hair, called me a freak. More than once I was thrown into the mud and told to change my pasty white skin. Almost pushed off the sides of Meero Cliffs. Since Nef looked short and scrawny like me and got bullied, too, telling him got me nowhere. Not a single day went by without some form of harassment. I'd gotten so angry that I've beaten a kid until his face bled, bashed another's head against old glass, and shoved a third off a cliff. He survived."

Vendra sees my widened eyes soften a bit. "They made you that angry? Come on, I'm sure your days weren't _all _that bad..." But in saying this, I was only trying to convince my younger self.

"Most of the time I ignored the teasing, attacked when I couldn't. That's why I began keeping a holo-diary. I wanted to see if the bullying would recede and record my turn-around days in the orphanage. I couldn't shake the thought that...someone, _everyone_, was in on some big secret about Nef and me. Someone knew _something _about my past and why we'd been found as shunned infants. When I thought I wouldn't find answers, I returned to the caves, and met _him._

"When I wasn't in detention, I'd run off back to our room to draw. One of my crayons slipped beneath the floorboards, and uprooted them to retrieve it. I heard a hollow wind. Caves beneath the orphanage. I didn't know what else I'd find, but I wandered into them optimistically. My childish mind still hunted for that crayon, and I asked the strange, ghostly creatures if they'd seen it. I wasn't afraid, but intrigued, especially when they seemed to understand me. They lead me to a wall with bright purple cracks running through it. A few of them slipped in simultaneously, breaking the wall down. In the middle of stalagmite fluid was my crayon. The wall in front of the puddle suddenly blinked, and I screamed. A large purple eye began speaking to me in a language I surprisingly understood. _'Don't be afraid,' _it said, _'Are you lost? It's a first, seeing a Nether beyond the crossing.' _I asked him what he meant, and he told me it didn't matter, because he seemed to have found a friend in me. He liked my smile, my voice, everything about me. Nothing was flawed to him. I was just an ordinary girl. That night, I gave him his name, Mr. Eye, and every day since, I slipped from the surveillance of the orphanage to talk to him."

"And you never suspected any ulterior motive?" I ask, remembering Mr. Eye cared for Vendra as a pawn, not as a person.

She shakes her head. "I preferred it because, whenever I'd return to that surface of an orphanage, I'd just revert to anger. Being absent from Mr. Eye was like sitting by cold fire. I wanted to hurt anyone who wasn't kind to me, because I never knew how much of a friend someone besides my brother could be. I thought to get revenge. Have Mr. Eye by my side to scare those bullies away from me, exemplify my pride to my race to those ignorant teachers. Neftin didn't see why right away, even as I showed him my findings. I suppose...he never fully understood the craving for affection I had. He thought the victim was the only role he and I were supposed to play. I needed to know there was someone besides him who cared about our existence. I _know _he cared."

Vendra carries a face of longing when she finishes, and I clearly see her burning desire to bring Mr. Eye into our world. Someone else, like she said, who cared about their existence. To give at least one damn about a lost race. It blatantly reminds me of myself, when Alister convinced me to reverse time to bring my parents back. To revive my innovative race to take pride in. It took Clank, my present, to pull me back down. I wonder if Neftin was - and if not, why wasn't he - that for Vendra.

"Mr. Eye told me he'd take care of Nef and me once we separated him from the Netherverse. He said we'd be together like a family," she continues softly. "I wanted that enough to do it. I thought we'd be able to find him a home-"

_For that giant thing?_ I think impulsively.

"-and in return, he'd give me protective armor to visit the Netherverse..."

"And...see your parents?" I offer.

"I didn't want _closure_," she snaps. "I needed to explore my home world. If I ever got the chance to meet my parents, I'd kill them."

"For abandoning you. Not to ask why they made that sacrifice?" I say instead of _choice, _which usually causes reconsideration. Her bluntness doesn't surprise me, however.

"That would be my only reason for ever returning there now."

I don't ask her if she thinks they're still alive, or if she'd return for other reasons. Instead, I mentally check off that anger seems to fuel any murderous desire, and move on. Before she can take the anger out on me.

Vendra rests a hand underneath her chin. I hardly move a muscle. It's been about fifteen minutes. We're _just _getting started.

"Tell me about your first trial, Vendra."

The gears, the setting, shift, so it takes Vendra a moment to recall the events that weren't six months ago to her prior knowledge.

"The only thing I knew for sure was that I was on Planet Terachnos, even after assaulting Pollyx Industries. I remember the high glass ceiling of the courtroom. It was cold. Let me out, I'd said, I don't belong here. I was disoriented. A Mag-Net was used to capture and arrest me, and I'd been blacked out sometime after. By the trial, I couldn't tell how much time had passed. I started convulsing right there in the room, and I started screaming for my brother. I spent time in solitary before they brought me back out. The trial went on quickly. I had no alibi against hundreds of Terachnoid witnesses. Those geeks sentenced me quintuple life on just _kidnapping_." She pauses. "And arson, and assault."

"Why did they need to put you in cryosleep?"

"When I convulsed, I felt scared and lonely. My powers went out of whack. I literally lifted the whole courthouse from its foundation."

So fear makes her lose control of her powers. I recall the Nebulox takeover. Arrogance increases it, I guess.

Vendra looks at both her palms and shuts them. "I guess the media covered that part up."

I guess they did; all I heard during the news of Vendra's sentencing was the chance to break in the Nebulox Seven recently operational. Since then, Polaris Defense had meeting after grueling meeting about "somehow getting involved" with capturing Neftin, who'd escaped with Pollyx as his hostage.

Talwyn - accompanied by Cronk and Zephyr by default and Qwark through a need to "end every speech with a dose of propaganda" - traveled across main sectors of the Polaris galaxy to publicly ease minds, assigning scouts in every sector to scope out Neftin and Pollyx.

After Clank and I somehow got stuck in a meeting titled "Why Polaris's Galactic Rangers Suck"- in which our PD supervisor shunned all troopers' skills - and the group returned, I practically begged Talwyn to bump us up. Mainly why, six months later, we were on the team as prison escorts.

"Neftin told me that I'd been in cryosleep since my sentencing, so since then, I'd been on the Nebulox Seven?" Vendra asks, my thoughts returning.

"As part of your quintuple life sentence, you were to be transported from prison ship to prison ship in classified areas of the galaxy," I confirm. "A transfer's scheduled every six months; you spend half a year in sleep isolation, the other half among prisoners. Before the mark, the search was on for escort volunteers. Thinking it'd be simple, I raised my hand. So did Clank, Cronk, and Zephyr. Other members of Polaris Defense got involved to ensure our safe return. It took a while just turning the ship around and setting course to Vartax, but once the work was turned over, the production of another prison ship, with new volunteers, would've been made just for you."

"Don't you think I could've easily escaped, with me being awake?" she asks coyly. "After all, _you_ busted yourself out of Vartax."

"_Cronk and Zephyr_ busted me out," I correct her, jabbing a finger against the table. "Without them, three months would've turned into thirty years."

Vendra leans up with a scowl. "You keep mentioning them like they're gonna somehow pop up out of _nowhere_."

She has the nerve to sound _annoyed _by that! I feel a boiling heat in my gut, and I clench and unclench my fist that longs for the wrench I wasn't allowed to bring in. I'm done trying to analyze Vendra. I thought her past would help me see what she'd become in hopes of reevaluating, but she doesn't seem to show any remorse at all. Whoever Clank saw in the Netherverse is not the Vendra in front of me.

"Why did you and Neftin kill my friends?" I ask upfront.

"I like to steal, Ratchet. And destroying is just the principle of the thing. And I'm not sorry, simply because you were better off without them. They were _expendable,_" she answers bluntly. "Seriously, Ratchet. I was practically doing you a favor."

_Expendable. _The word rings in my large ears and makes them twitch. That means useless. Made to be thrown away. _Scrap_. My gut tightens, and my head begins to shake on its own.

"You..._You_..."

"There's your answer Neftin kept babbling I should give. So are we finished here?"

I don't move, a seething glare on my face and a growl tickling the back of my throat.

"Let me ask you, Ratchet. Did you really think turning ourselves in would be the last step? Or are you that oblivious that criminals get their voices heard, too?"

"What are you saying, Vendra?" Venom passes and deepens my voice.

"Just like what happened six months ago, Nef's and my actions are going to court. This time it's in the hand of Polaris's capital, with a new set of rules. You're gonna see quite a turn-around there. Like the fact that your dear friends are _not _murder victims, but _scrap_. Or the fact that some charges should be lessened because we _saved _this naive city from a Nether invasion. What say you to that?"

"How dare you...?"

That phrase was etched in the back of my mind, but someone beat me to it. I turn my head to the door sliding closed behind-

"Tal...?" I freeze in my seat.

"You killed my friends and show not an ounce of remorse...You really are a cold, empty shell."

Talwyn steps from the shadows in quick strides. The light makes the whites of her angry eyes and teeth flash. She stands by the side of the table between where Vendra and I sit, glaring down at the fearless Nether.

"I'll ask you this time." Talwyn bends her body to level her face with Vendra's. "_Why _did you kill Cronk and Zephyr?"

Vendra turns to Talwyn in kind, smirking. "Hmm, a good question. Will you break if I tell you?"

"Talwyn...I-I've got this," I mediate. "Just go back in the other room-"

Suddenly, it feels like someone is dragging my chair back against the wall behind me. I slam back, stunned, and I look up to a blanket of pink in front of me. I'm boxed in with no room for my body to stand from my seat. Behind the field, I see Vendra's head drop to the tabletop, a hand rubbing her temple. There was the arrogance, right before I spoke. Despite my theory, I know somehow, Vendra's powers are returning.

I'm back on the Nebulox, speechless and trapped, as something bad happens.

Someone else is coming in now, not as frantically as I thought they would. The shortest one here.

"Clank!" I shout for him.

My best friend runs to me, ignored by Talwyn and Vendra. I really don't know what's going on, and I hope just a little "Clank logic" can help. He stops just outside the forcefield, a questioning look of whether or not it's ideal to touch.

"Are you alright, Ratchet?" he mutters, as if I'm behind bars.

"I'm fine." I grin a little at the worrywart. "Just stunned. What's wrong with Tal?"

"When she heard Vendra say they were expendable, Talwyn snapped..." Clank explains, glancing back towards them. "I was a bit worried that could happen."

"I want to hear you say that again," seethes Talwyn. She's trembling with balled fists at her sides.

Vendra still looks like she's getting herself together, looking disoriented, and swats her hand randomly. Since Talwyn's face was in the way of Vendra's imaginary target, she's struck.

Talwyn's cry is more of a growl as she stumbles to her right, and when she straightens herself, she's heated. Her face grows red, and she shoves Vendra out of her chair. "Don't _touch_ me!" she screeches.

Vendra falls like a broken doll, unresistant to gravity. For a moment, she appears unconscious, but, after a heavy silence, a sigh billows from the floor like an ancient steam engine, as dense as fog. She slowly wobbles to her feet with the support of the side wall. Other than her strange set of mind, she appears unharmed.

It's creeping me out.

"Expendable, huh?" Talwyn muses, her hands flat on the table. "What about all your Thugs we brought here? What about _all_ organics, huh?!"

Vendra stands, silent, her eyes closed.

"How could you even say that? Just because they're someone you can play with, you feel like just killing whoever you want?!" Talwyn waits a moment for a reply, pressing her body forward in anger. "Answer me, Vendra! You killed my friends, my _family_! They took care of me when I was young, especially when my father disappeared!"

It's weird, but at Vendra's silence, I can hear something, an almost grating sound. When I listen closer - it doesn't seem like Clank can hear it - I hear words in an unfamiliar language. I'm sure of that.

How the hell am I hearing Mr. Eye?

I don't know what to make of it, don't know if I should provide some kind of warning.

Talwyn repeats Vendra's name in a warning tone, and in a snap, Vendra approaches Talwyn, cutting off her next word as she coils her hands around Talwyn's neck.

It's an alarming, yet almost awkward view, since Talwyn is a few inches taller than Vendra and myself. The Nether girl stands on her toes and lightly totters in a lazy semicircle holding my friend's breath. This is the complete opposite of Talwyn's pretension of choking to death in deep space. This is exactly why I didn't laugh. I'd jinxed it in my mind. The most alarming sight I see is the illusion of long, sharp, purple fingers largely gripping her neck instead of Vendra's pale, bruised hands. Talwyn's seem to slip through the illusion in attempt to wrench the ones she _can_ see and feel.

Am I the only one seeing this?

When her attempts aren't enough, Talwyn fumbles with her belt, reaches for a certain holder, takes out a _Constructo Pistol_, and fires it into Vendra's chest.

It happened so fast that my mouth stayed open, soundless.

Vendra's forcefield drops, and so does Vendra and Talwyn's gun. I run up to see Vendra's blood, a shiny red-purple ooze, streaming from her mouth and spreading in her jumpsuit; her gasping, convulsing form (I almost wait for the building to lift from the ground); Clank, who's silent with a face I know wouldn't judge Talwyn nor Vendra; turn to Talwyn, whose hands are over her mouth, eyes huge and color drained from her face, her knees knocking until she crumbles next to her gun, her eyes never leaving her target. Talwyn never misses. Her face tells me otherwise.

"H-H-How _DARE YOU?!_ " Vendra's scream falls from her mouth like her tongue is hanging out. She clutches her chest with bloody hands and leers at Talwyn like she broke her heart. Her probably shot heart.

Guards come in and I'm unsure if they're aiming at Talwyn or Vendra or both. The sounds registering for a few moments are safetys pulled back, and Vendra choking on her own blood.

"We have a policy against violators who use a gun. Most common punishment is a bullet in 'em themselves," says the novice guard who'd stopped me earlier this afternoon. He unabashedly aims his gun at Talwyn.

"You are not." I block her from his gun, disappointed that all the guards appear to be allowing this, or worse, considering it themselves. "Over my dead body you are not." What kind of penitentiary is this?

"He doesn't remember that rule was abolished over ten years ago," says the guard beside him, pushing the novice back. "But we do have to keep both these ladies."

I glance back at Talwyn, trying to look as reassuring as possible, but I'm too shaken.

Various murmurs fill the room as I'm moved aside as one guard takes Talwyn by a wrist, and two more haul Vendra like there's an invisible stretcher beneath her:

"Get her in the infirmary, but dress it quietly..."

"Don't you think she'll scream?"

"You _really_ should've put that gun away..."

"Where's she gonna be?"

"Say she wanted to wait overnight to speak with the other twin, and changes her mind in the morning."

"_Most_ importantly, keep this from the chief."

Clank and I are left behind a closed door, two awkward chairs, a circle of blood, and Talwyn's gun.

How I'm gonna say good night to today...I have no clue.

* * *

8/24 edited for clarity

7/20 A/N

WHOO LAWD! I finally finished this thing! Took me forfreakingever. New ideas and suggestions sprouted a change in this chapter entirely, and I amazed myself with the turnout.

I know it was a long read, but thanks for the patience. This might be the only chapter I publish in a while, so embrace it! I'm starting college again in August. Chapter 3 is predicted to be shorter, not nearly as long as this.

Thank you EVERYONE who reviewed or even hit my story. The continued support for my second only multichap delights me. I enjoy reading your reviews.

*The idea that Neftin got his body from an accidental experimentation Vendra deployed is NOT mine; it's a head-canon that belongs to **gameloverx** with permission. Check out her related fic, "Cybernetic" in-progress/more to come! _She _deserves it!

I update the status on the incoming chapters on my profile, so use that to determine updates! :)


	4. Captain Consequence

_Trials and Abrogations_

_"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." William Shakespeare_

_Chapter 3: Captain Consequence_

It's been almost an hour since Darks Gumblebrick left Vendra in the interrogation room. As he escorted the Nether there, he'd tried quid pro quo with her, but she was tight-lipped and avoided his eyes the whole time. She must've still been processing his words to her. He used her silence to briefly explain Polaris' degrees of murder and charge dismissals, believing she was listening. Though Gumblebrick doesn't assume the twins murdered anyone, the Polaris Defense Force still came for answers. But judging by that organization's incompetence, he expected an emotionally-driven interrogation, and thus, a shorter time waiting.

The green-skinned man folds his hands in front of his belt, feeling the ascending elevator halt. Now back at the interrogation floor, he steps forward, but stops when he sees a Markazian girl at the entryway, holding the wall with bent knees. How peculiar.

"What floor, Miss?" Gumblebrick offers.

Immediately, the Markazian straightens, eyes and lips wide on her flushed face. The lawyer grins, hoping to ease her.

She closes her lips, exhaling from her nose harshly. "Infirmary, please," she manages levelly, entering the elevator.

Gumblebrick nods and presses a button to the appropriate level, the shaft ascending again. "We actually don't do visiting hours here...unless the inmate is dying," he explains with a low chuckle.

With an audible swallow, the girl nods, then shakes her head frantically. "She...she may be."

The defense attorney glances at her out of the side of his eyes. What tomboyish clothing for a female Markazian...Wait, now he recognizes her: Polaris Defense Captain, Talwyn Apogee. She, and probably others, had arrived to interrogate Vendra. Did this girl get her answers? If so, why did it seem like it had backfired somehow, gone against her favor?

He takes a moment to _really_ watch her, his brooch morphing to white.

Her hand strokes her right elbow up and down - pain from an altercation, probably initiated. Her panting, regardless of her attempts to subdue it, pierces the soundless elevator ride. She was running away, if her red face wasn't an indicator. He sees guilt in her eyes just before they flutter closed. And...he must stop now. It will make the girl even more awkward and uncomfortable if he chortles.

Applying this_ skill_ outside of court is a bad force of habit, really. Actions_ scream_ louder than words, especially when lawyers can easily miss them during trial. Unless the witness is a well-practiced liar, said person will play with the jury's emotions in speech but reveal the truth with their body language. There was never a point of demanding the causes when Gumblebrick already knew of the effects.

A simple scrutiny held all the details.

His only question: Will she be distressed from her mishaps?

He reaches behind his brooch and extracts a small card. "If you ever need it."

She turns her head with a skeptical pout on her lips but reaches for the card. Absently turns it between her fingers before closing them around it.

"In fact, show it to the nurses when you get to your floor. Tell them I sent you, and they'll let you see your friend."

Curious to see if his name holds that kind of power, he feels better seeing that it gets the girl to look at the card in her palm.

_Darks Gumblebrick, criminal defense attorney_, his number and holo-mail address. She looks at him a bit baffled; most likely from how young he looks.

"Thank you," she mutters to his long mustache, which wobbles with a smile.

The elevator opens, and she steps off.

"Don't mention it, Miss Apogee." He waves farewell as the elevator closes once more.

Talwyn spins around, her heart accelerating again. With her job, her name known by that man shouldn't surprise her, but she doesn't feel proud in this moment. Instead, she thinks anyone who knows her name will know what she did: shoot an inmate and run away from the guards' hold with a flash bomb and an elbow to one's nose.

She sighs and holds up the card again.

_My 'friend,' huh?_

* * *

_Vendra's eyes opened; brilliant white stung them immediately. In their rapid shift, she saw her arms spread out on either side of her, flattened to a hard chrome surface. She felt her hands, cocooned in orange sleeves, trembling and sweating. Thick leather straps bound her wrists over the mending handcuff bruises. The light fixture above, rotated towards her, also held a concave mirror and a crane contraption that swayed to the central air blasting above it._

_She realized too quickly that she was lying on an operating table._

_Then there was a painful jerk in her chest. Her back slowly arched off the table as it became an agonizing tug. Her eyes darted down at the source._

_Thin pliers held the tail of a small bullet coated in red-purple, which was also smeared dry over her cold, naked chest._

_Her accelerating heartbeat made the silver objects pulsate against her. Dark colors danced in her eyes. Mr. Eye's words for "my return" replayed ceaselessly._

_Why was her mind the only one __**crying**__?_

_Vendra screamed - the only deemed solution to remain in control of herself._

_There was alarm, even faint groaning, and bodies shuffled, taking advantage of her open mouth to gag it with gauze tape. The procedure continued in a remotely quiet fashion._

_But she heard worse. Through her muffled moaning, flooding eyes, and the scrunching of punctured skin as the bullet finally popped free, Mr. Eye's presence swam and splashed upstream through her blood. It reached her brain and latched on. He wanted to see her agony through her eyes..._

Sleep is the eye of the storm in Vendra's mind. It's when Mr. Eye's claws loosen and her pulsating head feels like it's cradled by a cloud. Her first night in the Pent has her lain on a plush hospital bed, medications plugged into her wrists. She feels nothing but a silent calming, a lighthouse bell beckoning her out of the waves of sleep. Water - figuratively and literally - clouds her lidded eyes as they see white and a touch of red beside her. She sorts through her mind to the only face she's seen with those colors. Her small hand reaches to the close figure and registers a warm, smooth cheek.

Some rare things mar the Nether's face: tears, a toothy smile, and puff of laughter. "Nef...Even a whole day without seeing you would've been hell."

Talwyn's hand stops, and her anger pauses. The drugs must be why Vendra can't distinguish her shorter face and bigger lips, but she stays silent. Vendra strokes her thumb on her brother's small ear, which is Talwyn's tragus.

"Wanna know why I'm here?" she continues in a lull. "Because you threw us in here. Couldn't we've taken the nice, long ride together to Vartax, huh? Skipped the court and faced the inevitable." When she gets no reply, she backpedals. "Oh, I see: you mean _here_. Ratchet's sweet little girlfriend shot me. She's a funny one, see: she knows me as an M-class criminal, Nether witch, and ruthless murderer. I know her as Polaris Defense Captain, daughter of a missing father, and quite honestly, an orphan now. We think we've got each other all figured out. What saddens me about her is...though she had loved ones swept from under her, she only shows her appreciation to what she _does _have by clinging to it like lint. Does she know what it's like to have _nothing _left - which could've happened entirely on the Nebulox Seven?"

Vendra pulls her hand away, hot droplets having slipped between her fingers. The red shifts away, leaving white in its wake.

"Oh, Nef. Don't cry, you big baby. Mr. Eye is...healing me. Come here so I can tell you about it..." Vendra lifts her head and aimlessly searches for her silent brother.

Talwyn coaxes Vendra down my placing her hand over the Nether's eyes.

"Rest. Doctor's orders."

Beneath her gloved hand, a frown tugs at Vendra's lips. But her eyes obeyed.

Talwyn stares at the girl that looked and talked like another one entirely. Then to the white, vacant chair she sat in. She sniffles, swiping at her damp cheeks, one still lingering with the Nether's harmless touch. She places the objects in her other hand beside a compact recorder lying on the bedside drawer: Gumblebrick's card and a yellow carnation (bought for meager bolts and meaningless to her).

"Can you believe I had to shed tears for _you? _Just to prove to the doctors it was dire to see you?" Talwyn whispers. "Let's make one thing clear: you were _never _my friend."

Finally, she pockets her small knife.

"I'll see you soon, Vendra Prog."

She exits Vendra's ward through the door. Behind it is a guard with reddish tissue stuffed in one of his nostrils.

* * *

_Ring!...Ring!...Ri_-

"_...Doc, I'm taking this phone call alright?! Hello? If you're one of those Penitentiary guards, you'd better tell me where you took my-"_

"Ratchet, it's me."

"_Tal! Are you okay?! Where are you?"_

"I'm fine. I'm being held in the Penitentiary overnight. I've got my own cell, food, and a bed…"

"_You almost make that sound pleasant. Did you find out what happened with Vendra?"_

"..."

"_I-I mean, did that...get you into much trouble? Um…"_

"Forget it, Ratchet. Is...there, um, a chance you'll come get me?"

"_Heh, why ask so nervously? You know I would. It's just, uh...Clank and I got back to HQ and wrote our mission reports, and he mentioned our exposure to irradiated particles, so...we got stuck in a chemical ward and got decontaminated…everywhere..."_

"That's happened to others before, so Clank was following an unspoken rule in mentioning it. It'll take two hours before you guys can get out with the results."

"_Yeah, we're in our room and they told us not to go to sleep till- Wait. _Two hours?!_ Ugh…I-"_

"Don't worry about me, okay? You and Clank can get a catnap in and they'll wake you when ready."

"_Are you sure, Tal? I could sneak out, pick you up and get back in time for that-"_

"No, it's fine. I don't have much time left. Tell Clank I'm okay, too, yeah? Bye."

Talwyn hangs up the phone. She just ended the only call she was allowed as an overnight inmate. So much for the hero saving her, she nearly thinks.

She's exhausted but sleepless, sitting on the white pullout bed, her back against the wall and feet dangling above a smooth concrete floor. Beside her boots is a tray of food long cold and water beading moisture. She refuses to ingest anything for fear it'll come back up. Blood had filled her thoughts and left her mouth metallic and dry. Talwyn looks through the bars at the guard, who turned back to her when she hung up.

He takes the phone from her, crosses the single-cell office to the desk, and rips the phone's cord from underneath it. With his task complete, he rubs his hands together in boredom and settles to watching the remaining guards at work.

One guard is putting cleaning supplies - sprays, a mop, and a bucket all smuggled from the janitor's closet - in a shelved wooden closet. Another holds a bloodied jumpsuit into the tightest ball he could make, tosses it down a trash chute, and exhales deeply. After some time, a third enters, panting, and wipes sweat from his brow.

"I didn't mean to, but before the coast was clear, I bumped into the twins' lawyer!" the third announces in a loud whisper.

"They've got a lawyer that quick?" the one at the desk comments.

"What kind of question is that?" says the one who threw out Vendra's jumpsuit, absently dusting his hands. "This Pent is one big contradiction! Imprison people, then give 'em the chance to break out with _Objections!_ and _'the jury finds this felon innocent!'"_ He mocks the legal jargon with drawled speech. "It's a _joke_."

"I had to tell that Gumblebrick guy that those Defense Force chumps tired 9971 out, and she's sleepin' in her cell!" He peers through the bars at the alert - and glaring - Markazian, then drops his voice to a whisper. "We put 9970 in there as a decoy. She's got the same color hair, so…" He shrugs, idly looking Talwyn's way again. "If you guys got _her_, is it okay if I clock out?"

Their attempts to cover up what happened aren't fooling Talwyn. She stands out of chagrin, her tail swishing sharply. "Instead of me pretending to wait to speak with Neftin Prog, just let me do it," she blurts out.

Each guard, slightly huddled in the compact office, looks a bit startled at her voice - not its tone, but at hearing it break their exclusive remarks.

The one at the desk clears his throat and utters, "He wasn't scheduled for an interrogation tonight."

"I don't care!" Talwyn yells. "I have the right to interrogate whoever I please, as Polaris Defense Captain! And I want to now!"

"Look, Miss..." He glances down quickly at a paper he holds in his hands - a copy of her Polaris Defense badge -"Miss Apogee? We're keeping you here all night until you tell us why you shot 9971. Depending on your reason, we'll see if it'll-"

"But you're trying to _hide it!_" she interrupts. "Why keep me here for some bullshit story?!"

There's a pause, then the guard who dumped Vendra's jumpsuit replies, "We were gonna tell the other twin what happened out of obligation, and we didn't want it to be ugly. If you want to tell Neftin Prog yourself, then we're eager to arrange it."

She tilts her head, a hand on her hip. "Obligation."

The novice guard interjects with a raised finger, "You know the saying, 'when one twin gets hit, the other feels it'? It's true!"

In the awkward silence that follows, the guards can almost hear Talwyn's baby blue eyes roll.

"If that's how you want it, I have no problem telling him," Talwyn speaks after a moment. "He owes me an answer anyway."

During the wait, she manages to drink the water from the tray, though it doesn't particularly cool her. There's a carpeted lounge behind the office, and the two burlier guards push the couches out to the concrete, leaving a marble table and two chairs situated on the sides. The bar and vending machines are disregarded, blending in the background of the makeshift interrogation room. A guard ushers Talwyn to a seat.

She feels the guard observing her quietly sitting, waiting for her statuesque form to flinch. Her eyes blink tiredly.

"Why didn't any of you intervene until after I shot Vendra?" Talwyn asks sporadically.

The guard sighs through his nose, throws up a hand and pats it against his leg. "We couldn't mutually decide when and how to act."

"And why put me in here? Can't you just take me to another interrogation room?"

"There aren't any cameras in here," he explains. "Miss...I know we may not look it, but we're here to help you. We're just doing it the way we know how." He almost looks pleading, a look Talwyn doesn't see with her eyes ahead, to where that empty seat will be filled with one of her guardians' murderers.

After a while, the door slowly opens, and the guard - who will perch for safety as silently requested - pats Talwyn on the shoulder, his trembling palm revealing he's more nervous than she is.

She was so confident before, now_ she _trembles...but she doesn't show it on the surface.

Neftin Prog enters the room.

On the one hand, Talwyn can describe Neftin's size how her seven-year-old eyes perceived her father: a huge, comforting lug. On the other hand, she knows better: the reason behind this Nether's strangely large body was something unimaginable, something she'd only ask of if Cronk and Zephyr weren't the subject of the matter. Or if she wasn't shaking so much inside.

Neftin's glass eye glints in the light as he neutrally looks down at her. Talwyn hears the _pipes _breathing, not him. They're pumping steadily, sticking out from his neck and his back, where his stubby wings flap silently. The jumpsuit is a shiny copper-colored metal, not fabric; grey steel encases his neck like a collar and is cuffed where the sleeves and shirttail would be. His ID number, 5004, is branded near his left shoulder.

She's seen sketch artists' drawings and the holo-vision's captures of him, but seeing the criminal in the flesh does something to her: it makes her imagine killing him, too.

"Looks like you're the one I should be giving my humblest apologies to," Neftin says as he sits.

"I think you owe me more than that," Talwyn replies tightly.

"Ratchet told me...those two helped raise you," Neftin continues softly, carefully. "Vendra and I lacked that constant guardianship growing up. They...must've meant a lot to you."

So Ratchet _bonded _with this criminal? How much more do they know about each other, about her and her loss? The girl's ears become muddled with those thoughts and her unpleasant perceptions of Neftin and his sister, despite his remorseful tone. She doesn't feel shocked about the shooting anymore and feels empty about it.

"Let's just cut to the chase." Talwyn crosses her arms, leaning back a bit. "You killed my warbot guardians, and I shot your sister."

Neftin blinks a moment. The pipes on his back gradually pump faster as his eye narrows, nostrils flare, and thick teeth grind together above a jutted jaw. He wants to react, but waits; he declares one scornful word:

"Elaborate."

Talwyn speaks in slight hurry. "Ratchet was interrogating Vendra. She mocked Cronk and Zephyr's deaths, so I confronted her about it. Next thing I knew, she was strangling me. She looked possessed…"

Her brief pause, which occurred because she looked at his unchanged expression, promotes him to speak. "You shot her. _Shot _my _sister_." He rises from his seat, towering over her.

The guard from behind Talwyn scowls at Neftin, who holds up his palm, relaying the silent message, _I won't harm her._

"Everything happened so fast. You need to tell me why you let my friends get killed." The rising tension makes her words lose some of their bite.

The Nether's colossal palm closes, a finger pointing at Talwyn shakily. "You...said you've already been _choked _today...so I won't do it. But just know, now that I know this...I don't want you ever in my sight again." He swallows. "I - let them die because…"

Neftin's finger retracts, his fist clenches, and suddenly it plummets down on the marble table, caving it in two. Talwyn leaps in her seat at the explosive sound, and immediately, the guard lifts her from the chair by her shoulders, stepping back. The vending machines' sodas shake in a loud, unified fizzle.

"You think I owe you or that space rat anything?! _Huh?!_ We threw ourselves in jail, isn't that enough?! You arrogant Defense Force members can't just push our buttons 'till we give the reaction you want! So what, those warbots died - they're _gone_, they didn't suffer! Meanwhile, my sister_ is!_ With the very bullet_ you_ shot her with! What more do you want me to explain?!"

Talwyn gapes, unable to look away from the Nether's rage. She knows any more cruel words that were playful to Vendra will just provoke her brother. She has no fight left.

"That's enough. Let her go."

A guard has opened the door a crack, directing his sentence to the one inside, pointing to Talwyn and curling his finger in. Following orders at lightspeed, the guard practically pushes Talwyn back into the office, and the one at the door approaches Neftin and slings energy cuffs around his wrists. "Time's up, Prog. Back to the coop."

"Looks like you got bailed out, Miss Apogee," the guard holding her shoulder says, cracking a _very _relieved grin.

Talwyn tries to mirror it as her heart pounds in her chest. Her theory was proven again: guards react at the last minute. Forced to readjust to the "safer" setting, she becomes dizzy, her eyes rocking in her head.

"Unacceptable. Imprisoning _my _captain overnight with no privacy or decent food? And by no one's rule but your_ own_?!"

The voice belongs to Vorn Garblak, Supervisor of Polaris Defense. Seldom is he angry, more often voicing his outrages with quotes, philosophies, and a straight face, then dumbing it down whenever the listener doesn't get the message. Barely half the height of any of those in the room, this would've been funny, but an unhappy supervisor meant business. His normally timid face has cracked with disdain, which never ceases to surprise Talwyn nor Vorn himself, as if leaping at his own shadow. He rid his body of robes of an impish minion, and he wears a deep blue tie and a suit entirely of opal, which shimmers in the light at certain angles.

The little Markazian takes the taller one's hand, pulling her closer to him. "Are you alright?" he murmurs, eyes behind bubble lenses squinting in concern. When Talwyn nods convincingly enough, Vorn addresses aloud, "I _told_ them to get in there as soon as I heard some kind of _explosion!_"

One guard speaks on behalf of the group, replying, "We offer you our humblest apologies, Mister…"

"Garblak. Supervisor or Minister, if you please."

"Well...'Supervisor' Garblak, we have an M-class criminal just behind that door-" he waves his hand behind his back - "so, once you've endorsed that check, I advise you both to leave immediately."

"Wait, a ch-check?" Talwyn gushes, her voice meek. Her face manages to look quizzical.

"To officially bail you out," the guard clarifies, offering Vorn a pen from the desk.

Vorn has already materialized one from his lapel, proceeding to the desk where the paper check lay.

"You don't have to do this, Vorn," Talwyn, whose position is on a first-name basis, protests. "I earn my own bolts, and you do so much already-"

"Consider it a favor, Captain Talwyn." With his back hunched over the tall desk, he swipes his signature and recaps his pen before turning to her with the start of a grin.

With eyes squinting sadly, Talwyn shakes her head incredulously and storms out the office.

"Oh dear. Captain Talwyn!" Vorn calls after her.

He catches up to the younger Markazian at the elevator. She pounds the lobby star with her fist. This floor is the lowest of the three she's traveled today.

"A-are you really okay, Talwyn? You don't have to shelter your emotions...that's only advised at work…"

Funny how a change of setting - a descending elevator, ironically - drops Vorn's authority. He's like a newborn butterfly afraid to shatter the chrysalis. Talwyn leans on the elevator bar and uncrosses her arms, questions on her tongue.

"How did you even know I was here?" Talwyn already knows the answer; she just wants to see how concerned he really was for her without blatantly asking.

"Nav-unit, time-log re-entry when you requested backup at the bank. _And_ I still have your fingerprints!" the midget answers, pushing up his glasses. "How were those ruthless Thugs-for-Less?"

"Buncha scaredy-cats deep down. Remind me of a few people I know." Talwyn smirks.

"Keep talking. You'll find yourself demoted, running suicides with Troopers again," Vorn jokes.

The elevator opens to the lobby, and the two exit its quietness quickly, refusing to be dragged back in. The Penitentiary's automatic doors slide apart, cool and fresh air blowing through. Lamps light the staircase and - as Talwyn steps back to see the building - a few of the windows, creating an irregular pattern on the tortoise shell. The moon rises behind, half-shadowed.

"We have a lot to discuss, Talwyn," Vorn says with a crack of earnest, returning the girl to the seriousness of her actions.

She's lucky she's not Ratchet - even with a turned back, his ears would have drooped, exposing his shame. Her telltale sign, though, is her hands crossing over her elbows.

"Just let me have it, Vorn," she mutters, crestfallen. "What does this mean for my job?"

She hears the short Markazian sigh. "We can't talk about it now."

"Then when?" Her head turns a little. "At Headquarters?"

"We can't go back there either. At least not yet." Before the girl can ask why, Vorn reaches inside his jacket for a paper folded in two, the sound of it flapping making Talwyn turn around. "_Igliak Weekly. _Today's issue released midnight tonight."

* * *

_chapter 3_

I almost fall face flat into my syrupy waffles. Frustrated, I reach over for my mug of coffee, hoping the overdose of espresso will wake me up. A few Galactic Troopers pass our table, and one claps a wiry metal hand on my back, almost making me choke. "Pep up, Lombax!" He says in a goodnatured, two-toned voice, joining a cluster of other scattered Troopers with oily entrées.

Clank looks apologetic at me again, and I wave it off. We would've slept in, but PD HQ has all Troopers on strict schedules, and the PD Suites' breakfast halls are only open between 5 and 8 A.M. sharp. Late-night radiation test or no.

Clank and I reluctantly returned to Polaris Defense Headquarters when we were practically thrown out after Vendra and Tal were taken away. Once there, it was mandatory to turn in a full, if not statused, report before we could be reissued our room key to the Polaris Defense Suites building across. Clank was specific whereas I just stubbornly checked off _mission failed _instead of _mission successful _\- as far as the original mission of escorting Vendra via Nebulox went. What'd bugged me was that we had to report for Cronk and Zephyr, too, staining their records with TERMINATION.

In said specification, Clank mentioned Pollyx exposing us to irradiated particles. When the front-desk girl read that, she looked in hysterics and pressed a button. Sirens blared too loudly for the time of night, and rubberized chemical specialists snatched up Clank and me. Things got personal when they tried to strip me of my armor and clothes, but once they got me standing bare against a concrete wall, Clank promised not to look.

I honestly think he was.

Decontamination would have taken a shorter amount of time had I not been cut at the back of my neck from that water tank-the rubber freaks told me the radiation could've seeped through my blood-but after abnormal bathing of my fur head to toe and Clank soaking in what I called "an oily mudbath," I was wrapped up like a mummy and Clank looked like a rolled up rug as we were escorted out of HQ and across the street to the Suites. I never felt so naked in my life, the night chill seeping through the gauze wrappings and sheet robe. Luckily, no traffic crossed last night and everyone from lobby to our floor was asleep.

Talwyn called me when we reached our room, and I felt guilty thinking about sleep while she was somewhere uncomfortable. Even though I wanted to sneak out and get her, I couldn't. She also informed me that we had to wait two hours-and it was well past midnight-for the results of transmissive toxicity, which were freaking _negative. _My Nebulox suit and clothes came back to me in a sealed bag, detoxicated.

After sleeping as late as we could so we could eat (a recent regulation was passed to accommodate our populous synthetics), Clank woke me with two glowing eyes and many apologies, standing a breath from my groggy face. I told him to shut up...Then I held him close and noogied him. Then we laughed at our mummified appearances and unwrapped ourselves.

I mutely thanked him for waking me from the nightmares I hid with covers over my head and between my teeth. He rescued me from shouting for Cronk and Zephyr's ghosts or running away from Mr. Eye's translucent, killing hands.

"I told you, pal, I blame the radiation, not you," I remind him again, setting my mug down. "Never you."

Clank grins sheepishly, steeping some oil tea. "Let us hope that espresso kicks in. What do you think is in store for today?"

"Beats me. Between you and me, I hope it's a 'free day,' for lack of a better word. Since the twins are incarcerated and all."

"Free day? The only day heroes should rest is their death! You sidekicks still have a lot to learn!"

I really gotta try the number-one method to keeping secrets: _whispering. _I mumble a greeting to Qwark, who towers over our two-person booth with green and a grin. He pulls up a chair and nestles his milk and cereal box in the middle of the table, almost knocking over Clank's steeping tea.

"Good morning, Captain Qwark," Clank says through annoyed optics, trying to be polite. He picks up his tea and sips it. "As always, your timing is impeccable."

"That's either a compliment or nerd for 'I was the subject of the conversation,' right?" Though Qwark is asking me for confirmation, he surmises the answer himself. "Yes! The revolution is already starting!"

"That was not a-"

"Do enlighten us about this 'revolution', Qwark," I deadpan. Because if we don't let him, he'll talk about it anyway. I lean an elbow against the back of my chair, all ears.

"Feast your eyes on my greatest service to PD!" Qwark folds out an _Igliak Weekly _newspaper, one relic of Polaris that has not been made paperless. Facing Clank and me is a _very_ compelling word search.

"Well, I found the word _Bluestreak,_" I quip, shoveling waffles into my mouth. Clank giggles.

"Do you know what _this_ is?" Qwark presses, tapping the paper with his spoon.

"A newspaper?" Clank supplies, and I snort and fist-bump with him.

"Very funny, sidekicks," Qwark says, drumming the spoon as if to silence us, like he's the teacher and we're his students. "_This _is _today's_ issue of _Igliak Weekly, _hot off the press! And on the cover is-"

"Me?" I say it as to finish for him, not to include myself.

"Yes, me!" Qwark points to himself with his trusty pointer spoon, then pauses, clarifying, "Not _you_, 'me', or _you_, 'me!'" He points it to Clank, then to himself again. "_Me, '_me!'" He almost looks hurt that we're not praising his 'service.' "Could you guys let me finish?"

"Okay, sorry," I say, chuckling. Clank and I straighten and salute. "Proceed."

Qwark clears his throat dramatically and rustles the paper in both hands. "I told these newspaper guys all about myself escorting the Progs to prison! Titled-_"_

Before Qwark can read, I snatch the paper from his hands and slam it on the table. He worriedly warns Clank and me not to wrinkle it, which falls on deaf ears.

With a quizzical frown, I let the headline fill my eyes. They suddenly widen beneath my lifting eyebrows and wildly shift. I hunch my shoulders forward with my palms on the bottom corners, my fingers slightly pinching them. Clank mounts the table to stand beside my arm to join. He stares at my stiff form before tilting his head to read. His antenna blinks and his mouth gapes, and incredulously he turns to Qwark, who giggles beneath an overstretched smile.

Just by staring at the bolded phrase, the glossy selfie, and the structured words in front of me, suddenly the images of mobs of paranoid people and hungry reporters breaking through the glass doors of HQ overtake my mind. My breakfast almost rises back to my throat.

**TWIN CRIMINALS PROG SURRENDER, QWARK LIVES TO TELL IT**

MERIDIAN CITY- Meridian City Penitentiary guards were on perimeter watch when one reported that an unauthorized airship had penetrated its maximum security barriers. "[But] it was a holoshield keycard encryption we recognized," stated a guard with the longest work history: 11 and a half months.

The aircraft, green with a Q-Force logo, stood empty. Only when the guards returned to survey the entrance did they see three figures, and who they saw could only pardon the shame of "borrowing" one's holoshield keycard.

Captain Copernicus Qwark had escorted twin criminals Vendra and Neftin Prog (all above), both of whom were surrendering to the system. Neftin Prog (right) confessed on their behalf to the heinous crimes of murder, kidnapping, arson, and theft. Through the confession, Meridian City Penitentiary guards believe Vendra Prog (left) is doubly responsible for the newer crimes not convicted 6 months ago. Though Qwark (center) looks accomplished in the picture, he briefly explained the dangerous encounter to _IW's _editor, Lucy Basher.

"I took them into custody in my ship," recalled Qwark to Basher. "The large one [Neftin] gave me some directions, but the witch [Vendra] wanted to kill me! Luckily I didn't need to use my super-hot blaster..."

Should Qwark's struggle be added to the list of crimes? Though Qwark says he won't press charges, he believes a certain, quote, "show-stealing Lombax" and a "bossy, overdressed Markazian" should.

Said Lombax is none other than Ratchet, who, wearing his backpack buddy, Clank, was last seen stopping Thugs-for-Less from robbing the Meridian City Bank last night with Polaris Defense Captain, Talwyn Apogee. Whether she is the aforementioned Markazian or if it's the distinguishingly dressed Minister of Defense, Vorn Garblak, is a matter of whether or not Qwark really wants to keep his job.

The Progs are currently incarcerated and await "protocol" trial, which is administered at the Meridian City Penitentiary by the Penitentiary Chief and Judge - and also "Qwark's new best friend" - Isidore Bronislaw. Their defense attorney will be Darks Gumblebrick, the youngest attorney in the roster.

But who will the prosecution be-The Defense Force, or all of Polaris? The crimes reach a serious level for those whose loved ones were murdered.

Qwark, who works as a sorter at the Polaris Defense Headquarters, added, "It [The Force] plays a big part in why plans go south. I mean, come on, four people against two deadly villains plus a gazillion Thugs?" The "dysfunctional" leadership, as he struggled to pronounce, produced an army of incompetent Troopers, and he concluded, "Next time, they should let me fulfill the mission!"

For his service, _IW_ will issue front-page promotions for Qwark's incoming holofilm, _My Blaster Runs 2 Hot._

"Did ya let that last sentence sink in yet? I should thank the judge personally for promoting me so gratuitously!" Qwark slides the news from the table, making my eyes bore intently into the granite.

Yes, I knew Vendra and Neftin surrendered under my order. No, I didn't know Qwark had brought them, I assumed they _walked_. Yes, I was vaguely informed that the Progs would be arraigned in court soon enough, but no, I didn't know Qwark was inside the Pent and mingled with this Chief-Judge while Clank, Talwyn and I battled for entry. _Yes, _I knew the Polaris Defense Force was more incompetent than Solana's - a group of synthetic toddlers who only listen to their Captain after doing their own thing - but _no, _I didn't know Qwark was dense enough to _openly_ assume that was due to poor leadership!

And, oh God, his corny film's got a _sequel?!_

I want to kill this idiot cradling the paper like a baby. Death by butter knife sounds like a dutiful way to go...

"Does this make you feel nobler, Qwark?" Clank speaks first, before I consider sawing Qwark with a syrupy knife. I turn to my pal who has his hands on his hips, glaring at Qwark who sits down. "The only good I see in this is speeding up the process of getting the Progs to answer in court. Must you have belittled the _slightest_ chance of turning the Force around with your indecisiveness?!"

"C'mon, it's not like I was lying!" Qwark mumbles over a mouthful of cereal.

"But that is exactly why Miss Talwyn is in office, to revolutionize the incompetent ways! "

Qwark hums with the spoon in his mouth. "And how's that working? By initiating the Single 'N' Hating It dating con while a light eating Z'Grute attacks Luminopolis?"

"That was an icebreaker during her recent promotion." Clank's optics narrow further. "Since then, she has gained respect and trust from the Troopers, and they have slowly started to obey orders the first time given!"

"Face it, if I didn't blow the whistle, no one would've!" Qwark contends, sweeping his spoon for effect. "Don't you see? This'll get me noticed that my lackey Sorter position in PD should be promoted. And _everyone_ will know that the great Captain Qwark should be Captain of Polaris Defense!"

My stomach lurches, and the lukewarm coffee I swig sputters from my lips. "_That's_ your revolution?" I cough, pounding my chest. "Qwark, a-are you crazy? No one is gonna feel reassured that you performed a service here. And Talwyn's already a great Captain."

"_Well_," Qwark leans closer to Clank and me with a secret, "in one of the filing folders, I saw a citation notice with Miss Captain's name on it! Won't look too good in the Supervisor's eyes, no?"

I look at Clank, and though he doesn't turn to me, we both know. Firing a weapon on any unarmed person is a serious offence here. Vorn Garblak, the Supervisor/Minister of Defense, has zero tolerance for broken rules. I've come close to breaking that rule simply because of Qwark many times.

"That all sounds dandy, Qwark," I say smugly, leaning off my seat, "until Minister Garblak sees how you mocked his leadership and clothing style." Two more things he doesn't tolerate. I roll the paper in my hand, slapping it into my palm. "You know, since the Force now has to restore its honor, I'm betting one thousand bolts there'll be a meeting today... Whaddaya think, Clank?"

"I think he will _sort _Qwark into the janitorial position," Clank agrees with his signature chortle.

Qwark almost swallows his trusty spoon.

A squeak pierces through the PA system, and the congregation groans a bit before falling silent.

"_Attention, all Polaris Defense Troopers." _The voice of Minister Garblak sounds through the dining court and echos through the nearby halls. Heck, maybe even in the restrooms' hand dryers. _"I hope you're listening because this is _not_ a reminder to fill out your paperwork following the fighting of Thugs-for-Less, _if _you have not already. All Troopers must report to the Headquarters Auditorium immediately for a mandatory meeting. And I will not repeat my-"_

The entire league of Troopers whoop and drown the intercom in a sea of excited shouts, high-fiving one another. The collective cheer is so sarcastic that I almost laugh. No one enjoys a meeting that's more about our own issues than about the galaxy's.

But snitching on Qwark sounds too good to pass up. Clank and I run, easily immersing our short selves within the sea of tall robotic Troopers exiting the dining hall.

With Qwark out of our hair for now, I hook Clank to my back and fall into the gradual clanking steps of everyone else. The plain white halls open along the right to reveal the stories above, opaque blue glass dark with shade. The lobby is cool with its all-glass encompassing, letting in the rising sunlight.

The air whips inside my ears as we exit the Suites. My gaze rises to the surrounding and sunlit buildings that shelter the Suites in geographic privacy. I hear from within the crisp blue skies the succession of horns always accompanying the morning rush. We cross the cul-de-sac leading to the crosswalk, traffic blocked. Headquarters, typically rectangular and glassy, lies in the middle of the conglomeration of buildings with the Polaris satellite logo at the very top.

The free feelings fade once inside HQ.

Before we get in the Auditorium, holograms are passed out by a cleaner bot wearing a tie, and ones labeled "Reserved" are issued to me, Clank, and Qwark when he eventually emerges from the crowd. We're seated up front, about fifteen cubits from the stage, all seats in the first two rows of the three seating sections vacated. Troopers fill the remaining seats and the silence, noise swirling the chamber as everyone waits for the lonely stage to fill.

There an empty seat to my left and I hope Talwyn shows. She should be back now; she flew herself to the Penitentiary last night and was supposedly released this morning, and meetings typically include the Polaris Defense Captain.

I absent-mindedly scroll through the hologram, which shows the meeting's itinerary. As if a structure will make us anticipate another part of the lecture besides the end. Like always, 'Introductory' and 'Closing Remarks' are spoken by Minister Garblak, but so is everything in between, unless vaguely noted 'Guest Speaker.'

It's like a holofilm cinema when the upper balcony sound booth dims the lights, all steps lit in dots, and a side of the emergency exit opens. The auditorium erupts into the pre-programmed applause as the spotlight follows the miniature, balding Markazian to the center stage podium - distracting the optics from the shadowy blurs that dart in and occupy the reserved rows directly far left, right, and behind me, Clank, and Qwark, murmuring incoherently beneath the ovation.

I sneak a glance behind me at who I assume are guests. Men and women professionally dressed. One woman in a suit waves as if she knows me. I turn back around, bewildered.

Minister Garblak likes to wear suits with unusual, eye-catching colors. Today, it's opal. When the room grows silent to only the sounds of blinking, he clears his throat into the mic.

"Good morning, dear Troopers of Polaris." His face is straight, a poker face with all aces and control. Smiles and frowns lie in the tone of his voice. "And welcome to all of our fabulous interns." All of the unfamiliar people - a lot to be interns, I think - give themselves a short applause.

"I just request that if you must view your holograms during the meeting, please fully dim the screen. Let us begin." A large holoscreen projector beams a slideshow to follow his speaking, its overwhelming brightness used to keep everyone awake. The first slide displays a single question mark. "A question for my Troopers: How many of you have Spacebook accounts?"

Qwark's hand shoots up. It's the only hand risen for about twenty seconds.

"I do not think he is asking out of mere curiosity, Qwark," quietly warns Clank, who's sitting next to him.

"Do be honest, or I _will_ embarrass you," the Markazian continues.

With that, my hand sheepishly raises, as does 80 percent of the Troopers both organic and synthetic, the rest either too self-conscious or indifferent to consider social media. Clank's raises too, _Secret Agent Clank _having become popularly streamed in this galaxy. I wonder if Qwark's arm has cramped yet.

"Good. Honestly is the best policy. I ask because the Polaris Defense Force issues serious and often _classified _information that the _public _ears should _not _hear. I have let this petty luxury slide for a while, but-" Great, the but - "all members of the Force must deactivate their accounts if they wish to remain a part of this team. Especially after today's delicious bite of info. Pass it along to anyone absent or outside of this room. Understood?"

The audience groans in semi-unison, "Understood."

The next slide shows a faceless figurine wearing a crown and sitting on a throne. We all know what's next: our mission statement. This is probably for the "interns" to take notes, otherwise we'd already be getting to the meat and potatoes of this meeting.

"Recite our mission statement for our guests."

Loudly but unenthusiastically: "To protect the kingdom that is Polaris, with the head high that wears the crown, administering orders to the body to serve on demand."

Our recital appears beneath the figurine. "Good. I needn't remind you that I am that head, your Captain is the crown, and the Troopers are the body." More notes. "Through leadership, courage and compliance, we can keep this galaxy safe. But that cannot work if any _part_ of the body becomes _uncooperative_." I swear behind the glint of his bubbly glasses, his eyes, but not his head, shift to our most honest Spacebook user.

"Four members of the body were assigned to escort Vendra Prog to the Vartax Detention Facility. Two made it back unscathed...and the others lost forever..."

Clank rubs my forearm, making the lump in my throat a bit easier to swallow. It's Minister Garblak's riddles that most won't get without firsthand experience; they must wait for him to clarify his words.

"Another decided to lift his finger to help, but with an ulterior motive: propaganda. And our crown lost its jewel of self-control." He breathes in and out. "In the Prog twins' capture, Cronk and Zephyr lost their lives..." He lets that sink in before he continues, letting the audience bemoan.

From what I hear with my head in my lap, the interns sprinkle their condolences to the Troopers behind them, sprockets rattling with disbelief. Then Minister Garblak clears his throat to continue, and I lift my face, the projection stinging the backs of my eyes.

"Qwark has made the Prog surrender a public announcement, which makes it our job to ensure security throughout Igliak and the rest of the galaxy _tenfold._" Some ill-natured "boo's" are thrown toward the front of the Auditorium, causing Qwark to sink in his seat. Well, there's no need to snitch on him.

Minister Garblak lets that piece of news die down before throwing out another. "And if you just noticed that Captain Talwyn Apogee is absent, it is because she is suspended indefinitely."

"What?!" My cry falls beneath the onslaught of disbelieving murmurs by the rest of the Troopers. My heart hammers in my ears and my lips tingle. Where is Talwyn now? Does she know what's happening? I look down at Clank, his dim face alight with worry, and I almost consider running out to find her.

But Minister Garblak glances my way, probably because I was the first to respond, and voices for everyone to quiet down again, so nonchalantly that I wonder if he cares that he caused the uproar.

"I won't bore you with _those details,_" he says to the interns as the complaints dull to whispers. Sure, _now_ some details are extra. "With that said, a new crown must be placed speedily..."

Minister Garblak goes on about the qualifications of the Polaris Defense Captain piece by piece for notetakers to follow. It gives me time to exhale, processing this. Tal's suspended, and she hasn't returned to Polaris Defense.

"Clank, you didn't see Talwyn's ship return, did you?" I ask quietly.

"I did not," Clank answers. "I am worried we may not be able to see her."

I shake my head, not wanting to believe that. Suddenly, to my right, a weird gasp emerges, and it's only now that I notice Qwark, who's practically jumping in his seat like some anticipated kid. Without much more warning, Qwark sloppily climbs on stage.

"Qwark!" I whisper-yell, which brings out a stifled laughter from behind me, giving the hilarious impression that Qwark is my runaway pet.

I realize what's gotten Qwark so riled up: Minister Garblak's next words that I perk my ears to hear, "...And now, I pronounce our new Polaris Defense Captain-"

"Thank you, O prime Minister!" Unceremoniously in a way that could for sure fire him, Qwark shoves the pint-sized Markazian to take his place on the podium.

I facepalm and groan, rocking my body in my seat.

"I'm glad the majority of you casted your votes in my favor! You can call me _Double_ Captain Qwark!" He clears his throat. "What is a Captain? A ship's pilot by air or sea? Those who sacrifice their own glory and fame for two hours and thirty-six minutes of..." He trails off, sensing his speech becoming _highly_ inspired by the script to his holofilm. "Being a king of the Polaris galaxy! The first thing I'll have all of you do is thank me for mentioning you in _Igliak Weekly_! And, uh..." He looks at Minister Garblak, who is wiping his glasses with his tie. "You have a really nice fashion sense, O mighty Minister! I didn't mean to-"

"Yes, yes, _thank you _for that wondrous little speech, Captain Qwark, but I'm afraid your title will remain singularized," says Minister Garblak loudly, shoving Qwark's shoulder feebly aside and remounting the podium, speaking into the mic. "But I announce and hereby present the _true _Captain of the Polaris Defense Force, Ratchet."

Strange things happen all at once. I snap my head up to see Minister Garblak initiate the applause. I hurriedly flip my hologram and see under 'Announcement' and next to 'Announcement Remarks' a series of numbers matching my ID. Clank snatches both his hands in one of mine and looks on the verge of short circuiting with shock; all he can say is my name against the noise. I bring him with me on stage, for both our sakes. The applause is endless, and even with the bright stage and shadowed audience, I see the conglomeration of Troopers exchange glances in utter confusion. The interns stand and pile downstage, some on stage, all with equipment in their hands. One I recognize as a pole mic, one as a video camera, and the rest as hand mics. And I realize with horror that these are not interns. They're reporters from both Channel 5 and _Igliak Weekly. _

I can't flee lest I really put the Defense Force to shame, and on camera, too.

Talwyn makes public speaking cakewalk. I can feel my ears wiggling shyly. I tap the mic, knowing it's already on, and clear my throat, which reverberates loudest through the floor speakers. "Well, guess I don't get to opt out on military affairs 'cuz I'm flat-footed, huh?"

The Auditorium breaks into a chorus of laughter, some in relief and others so outlandish that I chuckle nervously. I glance at Clank by my feet, unsure of what to say next.

"Um...Being the crown, uh, takes strong leadership, like Qwark and Minister Garblak were saying, and...it's something not everyone can mount up to. Sometimes...though not to my notice...such a responsibility must be passed along." Then it comes to mind to use Tal's inauguration as a template; she mentioned an accomplishment she was proud of: finding a lead to her missing father. "One of my biggest missions involved since joining the Defense Force was tracking down the Prog twins in Axiom City. Part of their plan, I guess, was to separate. Vendra was alone. To make a long story short, I was the one who captured her with a Mag-Net and handcuffed her. That took, um, skill..."

"With your skill, Ratchet, do you think you can take on the responsibilities as Captain?" a male reporter asks, which urges all others to yell out their own questions.

Minister Garblak calms the storm, announcing, "To be honest, Ratchet needs some work. Neither he nor Qwark have commanding prowess, so I was left to a figurative coin toss. An egotistic captain or a cowardly one?" Completely ignoring Closing Remarks, he steps off the stage, heading up the steps to the north exit, leaving the crowd torn between following him or staying to listen to me improvise.

Cowardly. Like I'm afraid to accept change, even one as sudden as this?! A fire burns in my gut. I don't know if it's from my confusion or overall frustration, but I'm _done _being underestimated.

"Then why not give it to Qwark?!" I shout, the mic screeching with it. The room falls silent, and I feel the camera lens zooming in on me, eager to film an argument. "Because a big ego is _much better_ as long as your name gets put out, no matter how stupidly, huh?!"

Minister Garblak stops walking but doesn't turn around. A spotlight gleams atop his balding head.

"Ratchet.." I hear Clank murmur beside my leg.

Qwark ducks his head into the mic, startling me. "Um...I second that-" I push his face away.

"You imply that the head is the most stable part of the Force, but if it can't control what its own body does, then it's no good, either," I say sternly. "So if I'm gonna be your new captain, you've gotta help me."

It's silent for a moment, heads turning back and forth between myself and my boss.

"Why isn't it Qwark, you ask." He declares it, not asks me. "There's a question in this morning's _Igliak Weekly:_ 'Who will the prosecution be-the Defense Force, or all of Polaris?'" That question sinks into everyone's minds as he slowly turn around, his face plain and stoic as he adjusts his glasses. "The last time any prosecution lawyer has had a vacation was almost a decade ago. So while they're all off, _Qwark_ will represent the Defense Force, and_ all _of Polaris, as a lawyer against Gumblebrick and the Progs."

I don't know if Qwark is ecstatic that he 'earned a promotion' higher than Captain, or if he's befuddled because he knows _absolutely nothing_ about Polaris law, but I hear a pretty loud thud from behind the podium.

And the meeting's adjourned, with reporters all over me.

"Ratchet, do you believe your friend Qwark is lawyer material?"

"Do you think you'll permanently be Captain of the Polaris Defense Force?"

"Any knowledge of Polaris laws that could or could not make court the best choice?"

That's enough - I've had enough.

I grab Clank's hand, hop over the fainted Qwark, and dash out of the Polaris Defense Auditorium, reporters right on my tail.

* * *

A/N: Oh my god, I finished this! 21 pages! Yes! The wait was taxing, I know...but I had a rough semester/half of 2014, guys. A lot of shit I went through, especially after losing my baby sister. But I'm better now. :) This story was part of my escape from it all.

One reason why I love the Progs is because they're twins - since I'm a twin, I like to express their bond in a way me and my sister share, for example, being able to tell each other everything about how we're feeling.

The yellow carnation that Talwyn gave Vendra symbolizes disdain, which she feels toward Vendra and her actions.

Part of the struggle to writing this was how to start off writing some scenes. I had an OC that was originally gonna be the Minister of Defense, until I found out Vorn took Zogg's place at the end of the comics. That must've been implied...Also, I kept changing the interaction between Vendra and Talwyn - I didn't want it to be a repeated yelling of chapter 2, but I wanted Vendra to be less 'evil' and more honest. This is only a fragment of what I'll portray of her next. The chapter 3 section was a bit tough but fun to write to with my "non-OC" adjustments. I also made stubble accommodations to chapter 2.

I think my favorite part writing this was Neftin - the fact that his own sister was shot was something he would never tolerate and trust, if anyone touched my sister, I'd be mad, too. I also liked expressing the comic relief in the chapter 3 section with Qwark, he's a nut! I wanna keep the wittiness Ratchet has - or "used to have" so he isn't some depressed loner (though saddened) from losing Cronk and Zephyr. Talwyn won't remain mean and bitter either (she just needs to listen to Qwark: "just let it out...let it ALL out. Don't be afraid to cry...").

Thanks to all the new followers/favorites and hits! I love your feedback and support!

We're getting farther with this. Next we'll see how Ratchet can handle taking on Talwyn's roles as Captain and how Qwark assumes rapid training to be a lawyer!


End file.
